


The River

by Claudia_flies



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha!Becca, Alpha!Steve, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Body Horror, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega!Bucky, Protective Siblings, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-16 21:38:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5841925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claudia_flies/pseuds/Claudia_flies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The river had always been the boundary of their world. The boundary between their world and the world of others, of danger and kidnappings, of people who “are not like us” their mother had always said.</i>
</p><p>Or: A medieval fantasy a/o/b AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 한국어 available: [강](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8408917) by [Dummy_pilgrim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dummy_pilgrim/pseuds/Dummy_pilgrim)



> So this is my first a/o/b fic, I don’t have that much experience with this particular world, but the dynamic fascinates me, so I’m tying it out. This is also my first Stucky fic… not quite sure why I decided to go with a medieval fantasy AU, but there you are.
> 
> Rating is for things to come. Dubcon warning for general a/o/b dynamic. I’ve tried to tag for as much warnings as I could think of.
> 
> All lyrics from _Young and Beautiful_ by Lana Del Ray
> 
> A translation into Korean available [here by Dummy_pilgrim](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8408917)

_Hot summer nights, mid July_  
_When you and I were forever wild_

The river had always been the boundary of their world. The boundary between their world and the world of others, of danger and kidnappings, of people who “are not like us” their mother had always said.

So of course, the river had gained near mythical status in their minds and crossing it had become a test, a dare thrown in the heat of each summer. Their bare feet balancing on wet stones peeking up among the frothing water, and on the logs and flotsam caught between the rocks after the spring floods.

Bucky had been first to touch the opposite bank when he was eight, which was right and correct because he was the eldest, so by rights should do things first. Becca had not been far behind, her deft and sly sever-year-old hands groping greedily at the wet moss of the bank, shoving it in the pocket of her apron to take with her, as a keepsake, a spoil of war back to their own side.

That first touch of the unknown had been years ago, to Bucky’s twelve-year-old mind it felt like a lifetime. Now the other side was almost as familiar to them as their own. Last summer they had shot an arrow across the chasm of the river to suspend a rope between two oaks that reached for each other across the water like friends trying to grasp hands.

The rope was still there, now turned greenish brown from algae and dirt. Becca pulled on it, putting her weight on it, testing the knot on the other side. She smiled wolfishly and suddenly Bucky wanted to be first again, feeling an ugly twist of jealousy.

“I’ll go first!”

Bucky shoved his sister aside, who in turn shoved back making Bucky loose his balance. They had always roughhoused, their mother shaking her head at Becca, sighing, “she’s more like a boy” under her breath, but this spring Bucky had felt something shift in his sister. Some raw power was waking in her, taking root in her legs and arms and chest. A power that Bucky feared he would not be able to match.

He landed on his side on the grassy bank, breath pushed out with a whoosh. Becca, still standing by the rope, looked on in surprise.

“Well, go then!”

He chucked a stone towards her legs, angry and petty and afraid.

“No, you go Bucky.”

There was fear in her eyes and she shook her head, slowly backing away from the rope. It swung in the air, swishing in the wind.

“Please, Bucky.”

He wanted to shout and shove at her. It twisted his stomach, that maybe the power he saw in her was not so welcome. Maybe she was even more afraid of herself, more terrified of what she was becoming than he was. The gentle Becca who loved to cradle the newly hatched chicks and run her fingers on the soft underside of their puppy’s belly was forever changing, becoming something else.

Bucky shook himself, dusting his trousers and grasping on the rope. He swung his body onto it, sticking his tongue out and yelling:

“You were always a scardey cat!”

“I am not!”

Becca yelled in outrage as he started to make his way across, but Bucky could see the gratitude in her face while she carried on yelling:

“You’re a stupid head!”

“Princess Barnes!”

That one had always gotten her good and angry.

“Toad face!”

She shook the rope, making Bucky swing wildly above the rushing water, her voice bellowing across the distance.

“Horse ass!”

Bucky hollered back as he scrambled off the rope onto the branch, pulling himself along into the canopy, and suddenly came face to face with a set of wide blue eyes and a mop of blond hair. The boy was sitting with his back against the tree trunk, legs dangling, straddling the branch. He had a small notebook in his hands and stubby charcoal.

Bucky straightened himself up, straddling the branch as well, grinning at the other boy.

“Hi! I’m Bucky.”

The boy smiled a little, the left side of his mouth pulling up.

“Ste-.. I’m Stevie.”

Bucky eyed him a moment. The boy was skinny, bony arms and long spindly legs. He did not look like anything dangerous or different. Just a boy like Bucky.

Suddenly the branch shook vigorously, making Bucky clench his legs to hang on.

“Ah, horse crap! Move up, it’s my sister.”

He shooed Stevie to the next branch and Becca made her way from the rope into the tree. She eyed them both with suspicion as she shimmied up the branch on her front.

“Becca, this is Stevie.”

Becca wrinkled her nose in a way that always made Bucky think of an angry piglet.

“Are you here to kidnap us?”

Stevie stared at her owlishly.

“Because if you are, I feel that I need to tell you that I will kick you in the privates and that will not be very nice for you.”

Then she smiled, wide and gap-toothed where one of her front teeth hadn’t come in yet. Stevie laughed at her then, his eyes crinkling in a way that made Bucky feel a bit funny.

“I’ll keep that in mind if I ever want to kidnap you.”

They all found their own spots in the tree. Becca mostly hanging upside down and pulling out leaves and bark with her fingernails. Stevie returned to his seat on the wide branch and started to draw.

Bucky made his way to the top of the tree, eyeing the horizon and the castle and hilly town in the distance. He wondered if Stevie was from the town if he was a person who was not like him and Becca, but disregarded this thought immediately. Anyone who found his sister funny, especially when she was being offensive, was exactly like Bucky. And that made Stevie his friend.

The summer stretched long ahead of them. But unlike the ones before, this one was to be different.

Whatever it was that Bucky had seen in Becca, their parents’ had now seen too. They had tried to keep him in the castle as much as they could but Bucky found a myriad of escape routes that his parents nor the servants were able to block. He was always alone now, running across the woods and the fields to the river without Becca’s steps following in his wake.

Bucky had seen her through a crack in the door, small and slight standing in front of a group of his father’s fierce chevaliers. Their armor bruised and cut, their faces battle-hardened as they looked down on his little sister. And there was nothing Bucky could do to protect her, no way for him to steal her away and hide by the oaks of the river. So he ran, shimmied across the river on the worn rope and played in the tree with Stevie.

They were pirates surveying the vast ocean from the crow’s nest, or highwaymen hiding their loot from the authorities, or warriors guarding their castle against invaders from the north.

Stevie had asked about Becca once, wanting to know if she was coming back. His cornflower blue eyes had been so earnest as he told Bucky that they could use another warrior to defend their keep. Bucky had looked away, biting his lip, not wanting Stevie to see how much his sister’s forced disappearance cut him. Instead, he had forced scorn into his voice:

“She has to do stupid girl things.”

Stevie had nodded, solemn and understanding. Bucky didn’t want to talk about the things that he had overheard, words that he did not fully understand, like “presenting”. Or how Becca suddenly no longer lived in their tower, how her room has suddenly been cleared and no one would tell him why.

Bucky’s mother had hugged him tight and told him that “your time will come soon too, my baby boy” and there had been tears in her eyes.

That is why on some days, they just sat in the tree. Stevie sketching landscapes and creatures of his imagination, and Bucky plucked things from the pictures, telling stories of wild beasts from exotic lands, of faraway places. Creating worlds for them both to escape to. Neither of them spoke of their homes, and Bucky wondered if Stevie also had a sister who had been taken away.

Instead of talking Bucky took out a small knife from his belt and carved his and Stevie’s names in the trunk of the tree, right where Stevie had sat when they met. Stevie ran his fingers over the names, taking his stumpy charcoal and pressing soot and color into the grooves. Creating his own imprint as securely as Bucky had with his knife.

In late August when the heat was at its worst they stayed in the tree until late at night, watching the fireflies emerge from the grassy banks and from the trunks of the trees, blinking in and out like little candle flames. They sat huddled together, not minding the heat. The darkness enveloping them both, making Bucky think that they were the only people left in the world at all. That would not be so bad, Bucky thought.

Stevie’s face was close. Bucky was surprised that he could still see the blue irises in the dark, the long dusky lashes, the other boy’s berry red lips. As soon as the thought entered his mind Bucky realized that he had been thinking of it the whole summer. Stevie’s voice was breathless, hesitant.

“Do you want to?”

Bucky nodded, not saying a word. Stevie’s lips were dry, chapped from the sunlight and summer. He exhaled, breathing into Bucky’s mouth and Bucky thought of late fall apples and elderflower wine that he had been allowed to taste at dinner. Stevie’s hand wrapped around his bicep, his long fingers covered in soot leaving stains on Bucky’s shirt.

It was Bucky’s first kiss. Born of young summer love and darkness and secrets. Come into being among ripening acorns and fireflies in the night.

What Bucky did not know was, that it would be his last kiss for an age.

The next morning he woke up in his bed, twisted and caught in his own sheets, feverish and sick to his stomach. Seeing him, the chambermaid ran out. His mother was there, by his bed, he hands running through his hair like she had when he was young.

“Oh, James.”

She was crying and Bucky didn’t know what to say. His mother had always been full of smiles and secret treats behind his father’s back. Always ready with a gentle smile when his father had scolded them, trying to instill discipline.

There were footsteps from the hall and his mother sprang up from his bedside as if burned. She moved away, disappearing from Bucky’s line of sight. The door was still ajar and her voice was still audible.

“George, please just leave this to me. Bucky has presented.”

“Oh Winifred, finally. I have waited for this so long.”

Bucky knew that tone of voice from his father. When his men returned victorious from the field, when he shot a stag for the winter feast.

“He has presented as Omega.”

And then there were no more words from his father. Just abject silence.


	2. I. Bucky

_I've seen the world, lit it up_  
_As my stage now_

His breath hurts in his chest, a phantom pain, a manifestation of his distress as the troops return. Less and less come back every day, their bodies eaten by the endless conflict. Bucky squeezes the scars on his shoulder, forcing more pain into his body, reminding himself that what he suffers does not compare to that of those slain or to those whose sons and daughters never return. He keeps his fingers pressed until he sees her, white cape flush with red and brown, streaks of mud on her horse’s flank and across her face.

Becca rides in, last of the host. Their commander, the highest ranking Alpha, she sees it as her duty to get her troops home.

Bucky still remembers the feeling of battle, it’s etched to his bones, burned into his soul. He still remembers it from before, when Becca used to help him steal chevalier’s uniform and mount with the rest of them. How she had pressed and massaged the glands on her neck and shoulders, smearing him in her scent until there was no difference between him and her, until they were the same. In the battlefield it had after all not mattered, the stench of blood and charred flesh consuming all.

He shakes himself from the memory and lets go of his shoulder, blood returning to the abused flesh, the pins and needles worse in a way than his self-inflicted pain.

He walks down to the yard, counting the returners under his breath. _Four gone this time_. He catches Becca’s eye, sees the number, the hopelessness reflected back.

The grooms take the horses, squires gather weapons, the sisters collect the wounded. They stand among the melee of bodies, tied together by their common despair.

“Rebecca. James.”

The reverie is broken by their father’s voice ringing across the yard. He leads them into the library, to the long tables arranged in the center, under the domed skylight. Their mother is already waiting, her hands in prayer, resting on the table.

Bucky sits across from her, always looking to her, searching for the woman who would call him her baby boy. She hasn’t been that woman in years, but Bucky still searches. He wonders sometimes if his nature was even more of a burden for her. Did people blame her, did wicked tongues gossip that she had been too soft on him, coddled him too much.

His father twists a letter between his palms, an oddly fraught gesture for him.

“An opportunity has presented itself and we would be foolish to disregard it.”

It’s unusual for Bucky to be present for any type of political decision-making. Becca is always present for any military planning, and their mother plays a political sounding board for their father.

“Rogers has been in negotiation with Stark for a marriage alliance. As you know, Stark’s only son is an Omega. Rogers was vying for him in marriage for his own son, but now the alliance is broken.”

Becca’s eyes narrow. She holds no love for the Starks, but Bucky knows that she has met Anthony on several occasions during the spring flings arranged for unmated nobility.

“It seems that the Potts’ have claimed the Stark Omega for their Alpha.”

“Virginia? Virginia has taken a mate?”

Becca’s voice is distressed. Bucky knows that she and Virginia Potts are close. The two rare female Alphas who, against all odds, had not clashed as biology and tradition had dictated, instead formed a strong bond of friendship and respect. Bucky also knows that Becca had quietly been planning for him to go to Virginia, to be secretly mated in order to protect him.

Their mother leans in, voice catching like sharing a great secret.

“It seems so. It’s mostly gossip, but the rumor is that they had been secretly courting for several seasons and the overtures from Rogers had forced her hand.”

His father waves her off, such idle gossip bearing no impact on his schemes.

“This gives us an opening to negotiate for a marriage alliance.”

He nods towards Bucky, letting his eyes linger on his only son for the briefest of moments until moving on. It seems to take a moment for the implication to sink in for Becca.

“No!”

Her fist makes the table shake, the two Alpha’s squaring off against each other. Father and daughter, like two images through a fractured mirror, the same but oh so different. Bucky wonders how it is that his father never sees it. Never sees that he already has the perfect Alpha progeny in front of him. Bucky knows that their father’s rejection of her status had been as, if not more, painful for Becca to bear than his own.

“Rebecca, this is not your decision.”

Their mother chides, ever the diplomat but Bucky senses that this is a decision that has already been reached. Not a negotiation. Maybe the overtures have already been sent. He wants to have a say, at least an illusion of consent over his future.

“Would it stop this? Stop the killing?”

Bucky can see his sister close her eyes, her fists clenching in defeat.

“You are not as prized as the Stark boy, but as Omegas among the nobility are in the minority now it should give Rogers something to consider.”

His father’s words had stopped cutting a long time ago. But Becca still always takes them to heart, always seeing Bucky as more than what he actually is. More than just a scarred and weak Omega where a powerful Alpha should be.

“How dare you! I kill for you! I burn and destroy so that you do not have to! So you can be safe within these walls! I am what you made me into and you will not take him as well!”

Even their father seems to be taken back by the violence of her sentiment. Becca had always preferred to keep the battlefield away from the house. To protect their mother, she had always claimed, but Bucky wondered if she had been, in her twisted way, trying to protect their father from the creature that his daughter had become.

“If I say he does not go, then he is not going!”

Bucky closes his eyes, seeing his sister’s gap-toothed seven-year-old smile, a curious child who had grown into her Alpha status and become Bucky’s protector and co-conspirator. He wonders what he would feel in her place. Seeing their father barter her away like an animal at the fair, he wonders if he could sit and let that happen. Selfishly Bucky is glad that it falls to Becca to watch him be traded.

“Becca. Please.”

His voice is low, but it stops his sister in her tracks, chokes the next insult ready to be flung from her throat.

“You have given everything to protect us. Please let me take my turn now.”

“Bucky no. You don’t know…”

He chuckles at her.

“You think that I don’t know? After all the times that you smuggled me with you, took me drinking with the other Alphas? You think that I did not hear how they spoke of my kind?”

She shakes her head in denial, her wrists rubbing over his, a habit formed of a lifetime of trying to hide what he is.

“I know that I am sacrificing. This is my choice.”

He watches her face, her closed eyes and feels like he has finally broken something in her that cannot be repaired.

The negotiators are sent out, via a matchmaker who has arranged the marriages of several generations of Barnes’, and of Rogers’ and even Starks. Rogers sends his own negotiators. Both sides meet, back forth, again and again, on the neutral ground of the matchmakers’ house. Finally after several months, a meeting is agreed between the heads of the houses of Barnes and Rogers, men who have not even faced eye to eye in the battlefield in more than a decade.

Omegas while not rare, are not as numerous as Alphas, and Omegas among the nobility are rarer still. Bucky had been hidden in plain sight since he presented. Hidden by his father’s shame and by Becca’s insistence of having him with her. Combat training suffused in Becca’s scent, secret heats suffered in dark basements and forever living with the knowledge of what a hideous disappointment he was to his father.

Now he is currency. Currency on which peace is negotiated for their province.

When the accord finally comes in Bucky feels strangely empty, already settled into his fate. He wonders briefly what the only son of the house of Rogers will make his scarred spoil of war body. Bucky wonders if he will see this as merely another conquest, another way to spoil the lands of Barnes. _To plow a stolen field_. He smiles at his own pun, sad and empty.

The preparations begin at once. A troop must be gathered to escort him, an honor guard to guarantee his safe passage and to take part in the wedding tourney. His mother commissions clothing for him; outfits more befitting an Omega, soft fabrics, and flattering cuts. There is nothing they can do about his scars or his shoulders, wide from archery and combat, but the clothes aim to emphasize his Omega qualities, his long limbs and the contrast of his pale coloring with dark of his hair.

Finally Bucky himself, he must be prepared to take on a role he had been running from since the summer of his twelfth year. He has been hiding for so long that Bucky has never learned the ways of an Omega. They leave him alone with the books, heavy and smelling faintly of decaying paper. He reads the text, looks at the pictures. It makes him feel like watching his mauled shoulder for the first time. The bandages pulled back, the stench of rotting flesh, his skin and sinew pulled away from muscle, red and swollen.

The drawings show how an Omega should present themselves for mating. How to offer himself up. Bucky wants to hurl, but he doesn’t. Instead, he reads and looks at the pictures, desensitizing himself as much as he can. _This will happen to you_. He tells himself over and over looking at each drawing.

He pictures it the same way he thought of his shoulder as if it was no longer a part of himself, just a piece of meat that was being handled in his vicinity. He can do this, Bucky knows it now, with a strange sort of detachment. He knows what pain is and how much he can endure. It is comforting in a sense.

When the day finally arrives the weather is wet and cold and they are already late to leave.

Becca drags him through the woods and the fields to the river. It’s fast and restless after the fall rains, water rushing over the stones they used to walk on, hiding them from view. The rope is still there, decayed and worn, no longer able to bear even a child’s weight.

Beyond the trees lie the castle and the city. Bucky’s new home.

Becca grabs the rope, pulling it tight between the tree and her fist. She looks at him, eyes wet but refusing to spill her tears.

“This will always be here. This tie binds us across the river. Never forget that.”

Bucky nods. His eyes are dry, all tears cried long ago.


	3. II. Steve

_When he comes tell me that you'll let him in  
Father tell me if you can_

He had hoped for a more joyful homecoming. Had always imagined it as a spring day with the trees in early bloom and the scent of summer in the air. Instead, it’s a grey September morning, clouds hanging low on the horizon, with a clear threat of rain later on. The weather suits the day, suits what Steve is coming home for.

He is going to get married, have a family. Not something he would have chosen yet, maybe ever, but this is not for him. This is a gift to the one person he owes more than anyone. Who could ask anything of him and Steve would acquiescence.

Four years in the outback and he is returning to a home changed beyond recognition. The mines dug deep into the mountainside when he was a boy have granted his father’s province wealth and power. The castle and the fortifications surrounding it have grown beyond what he had been able to imagine from letters and stories from travellers.

Gabe lets out a long whistle as they reach the outer wall, the rest of the Howlies nodding in agreement. Even Dum-Dum and Morita who had grown up not far from the city seem surprised at the opulence. The Rogers family banners snap and twist in the wind on each corner of the octagon outer wall. The heavy gates are lifted as soon as they are close enough to be recognizable to the guards in the watchtower.

The courtyard is still a hubbub of activity, carts and horses jumbled together in an organized chaos. The Alpha Guard standing in wait for them has changed. Chester, who had trained Steve all those years ago, is nowhere to be seen. Instead, a cocky Alpha with dark hair and overabundance of arrogance stands in the courtyard to greet them as Steve and the Howlies dismount.

“Rumlow.”

He holds out his hand to Steve who doesn’t take it.

“Where’s Phillips?”

The rudeness seems to startle Rumlow, his hand pulling back mechanically.

“Retired. Back gave out.”

Steve looks around to the other guards, all unknown to him. He knew that things would have changed in his absence. The outward changes or opulence are easier to accept than changes to the people who had made this place his home

“Who is head of the guards now?”

“I am.”

Rumlow’s voice is clipped, challenging. Silence has fallen on the yard. Steve can feel the Howlies shift behind him, assuming defensive positions.

Rumlow looks away first.

“It will be an honor…”

He spits, a round glob of spittle landing near Morita’s foot, indicating that it will be anything but:

“…to represent your house in the tourney.”

He turns and walks away, waving the rest of the Alphas to follow.

“Well, that wasn’t the homecoming I was expecting.”

Dum-Dum grunts and Steve shakes his head, wondering of all the other things that would have been lost to time.

The corridors to his family’s wing of the castle are still blessedly familiar. The old tapestries that he had hidden behind as a boy still hang on the wall. _The Defeat of Angelus_ , _Forest of Wonders_ and the oldest one, hanging by the door of his destination: _The Omega and the Unicorn_. He runs his fingers over the mane of the unicorn as he has done time and time again when walking through this door.

She is lying on the bed, propped up by a mountain of pillows. A stack of books rests on the nightstand, and an open tome on her knees. Her skin is like paper now, blue eyes still deep and knowing but Steve can see the illness near the surface. He holds her hands between his own, touches his lips to the worn knuckles.

“Steven, I’m so glad that you are home.”

She still smiles, still cradles his face with so much love but her hands tremble now, tremble so much that he has to hold them against his face.

“You should have called for me sooner. I should have been here.”

His mother shakes her head, smiling still.

“I was doing better. The illness, it came back so quickly.”

Steve shifts and sits down on the edge of the bed, keeping a steady hold on her hands, covering them in his big meaty ones.

“You should have sent for me before.”

He admonishes.

“Not just now that…”

His mother’s eyes look sad for a brief moment, he fingers curling around his.

“I know it is selfish of me to ask this of you. To ask you to marry to fulfil a mother’s silly dream.”

Steve shakes his head, no matter his own feelings; he would lay down his life for this woman.

“Nothing you ask is selfish or silly.”

He kisses her hand again in affirmation, but her smile falters as if she is remembering something sour.

“Steven, your father. He will need you to guide him now, he is so angry at the world. I fear that my passing will make him harsher, more unforgiving.”

She coughs as if the though itself is abhorrent.

“Of course mother, I’m home now. I’m here to stay.”

“You must make him see reason. I had hoped that your marriage would steer him away from this path, but I fear that the sorrow in his heart has grown roots too deep.”

Steve tries to smile, a comfort and reassurance.

“Do not worry. I will speak with him. You can both stand together, proudly at my wedding.”

She takes his hands now, and in turn places a gentle kiss on his knuckles.

“You always did think that you could change the fates of men. Even when you were a little boy.”

He laughs, but there is no happiness behind it. They both know his boyhood was filled with busted knuckles, cruel taunts, and disappointment.

He leaves her with her books and a promise to return as soon as things are settled with his father.

The torches are lit in the library when he arrives, shadows flickering between the long shelves, leaving the corners that used to frighten him as a child in darkness.

His father has aged, aged and grown thin, not just in body but in spirit. He greets Steve with a wan smile while his advisers share looks of concern behind his back.

“Steven, you have finally returned, and just in time. The final settlement has finally been agreed.”

“Already?”

He had hoped that he would have had at least time to meet the Omega, to see if there was a match beyond their designations.

“Yes, there was no need to tarry. I knew you were on your way back.“

One of his father’s advisers spreads heavy vellum on the table; the contract. It already holds the signature of George Barnes as well as his father’s. Space is left open at the end of the document for Steve’s mark. There is no sign of the Omega’s name. His father mistakes his hesitation for distaste towards the Barnes name:

“Stark would have been my choice. However Potts got there first.”

He waves a younger advisor to spread the map next to the contract, the border dotted with swathes of black charcoal.

“The turf war over the farmland has been weary and I need the men defending the southern borders rather than spending months on end advancing one homestead at a time. This will be much cheaper.”

The advisor dips a tip of a quill into the inkpot, offering it to Steve.

“Barnes always thought his son would be the strongest Alpha in the land. Bragged about it as well.”

His father’s laugh is a dry, ugly sound.

“Instead he is selling his Omega progeny over some farmland and pheasant hamlets. This one won’t really compare to the Stark boy. He will be uncultured, but he is here mostly for breeding. It’s not as you will have to take him outside much.”

“What is his name?”

His father seems startled by the question, interrupted mid-tirade.

“James Barnes.”

His father had always had political ambition. It had been tempered by his mother’s kind nature and his father’s devotion to making her happy. She had detested conflict, promoted diplomacy and encouraged the advancement of moderate Alphas among their army. The moderate Alphas who had been Steve’s mentors and trainers after he had finally presented, when his body had morphed beyond anyone’s wildest imaginations.

Now, his father’s grief had formed him into a bitter and twisted creature, the rivalry between himself and Barnes consuming his mind. Gaining advancement was no longer enough, the enemy would have to be destroyed, wiped out.

Steve signs his name on the heavy vellum. _Steven Grant Rogers_. Sealing his fate, transforming his life in a way he is in no way ready for.

He sits in the room after everyone has left and watches as the dust particles play in the fading light. He is going to marry an Omega in a trade over land, an Omega whose family had been feuding with his for more than a decade. It’s a show of power, revenge against an enemy.

Steve crumples the offer letters between his hands, presses the parchment as small as he can, willing the words to disappear.

He had not imagined that his father’s soul could hold this much hate. The older advisers had shown Steve in hushed tones the towns on the map, which no longer existed. Purged to seize farmland, to punish Barnes. He knows logically that he is the only one with enough power and sway in the family to get the bloodshed to stop. He knows that this is the only way.

Steve always knew that he might have to enter into a political union. He had hoped that he would be able to come to agreeable terms with his Omega. Allow them both to take lovers, have freedoms outside of the union that did not hold affection or desire.

Now he will be boded to an Omega who will hate him. Will hate his new home. He has seen it in the slave markets of the south, Omegas who are forcibly bonded and knotted during their heats. He has smelled the putrid, cloying scent they emit, heard the hissing and horrific moans.

The though makes him drop the crushed parchment as if it burned. He leaves the library and it’s dark corners behind.

It doesn’t take much, only a walk to the nearest tavern, to find the Howlies. Dum-Dum lifts his tankard and waves Steve over to the long table they have occupied.

“So, Captain, what is it to be? We staying or going?”

“We’re staying. Or at least I am.”

They all make varying hand gestures, indicating that wherever Steve goes, the Howlies go too. But they do deserve to know the reason he is going to be keeping them in town.

“My father has arranged a mate for me. An Omega. His name is James Barnes.”

“Barnes! You mean from the town across the river? The town that we have been fighting for a decade? That Barnes?”

Dum-Dum demands while Morita frowns:

“They had that Alpha girl, didn’t they?”

Falsworth nods:

“Nobody knew the boy was an Omega, not until….”

A silence falls. No one will finish the sentence aloud.

 _Not until Azzano_.

Azzano was where Rebecca Barnes had gained her notoriety. Where she and a handful of her Alphas had stopped a raiding force from the south six times their number. Azzano, where her brother had gone into heat on the battlefield. Where she had held out against her own troops, defending him.

The story is gossip now, stuff of legends.

“Well, shit.”

Dum-Dum, can sometimes be powerfully eloquent. Steve leaves the table to replenish drinks for his men. The barkeep nods to him in recognition, the news of his return having spread quickly in the town.

They drink late into the night, and the landlord keeps the ale flowing. No one speaks of Azzano or of Steve’s betrothal. He and Dum-Dum carry Morita between back to the barracks, Gabe and Denier leaning on each other for balance, guided by Falsworth’s slurred instructions.

As they reach their assigned quarters Morita wakes up and starts to sing, a rude tavern song about a lusty Omega wench. Steve shoves him into his cot with more force and anger than is really warranted and Dum-Dum gives him a look. Both him and Steve are the heavyweight Alphas on the team who can hold their liquor beyond what the rest of the team can handle. Morita grunts and grumbles, but it stops him singing. Steve turns on his heel and walks out.

Dum-Dum follows him and leans casually against the wall, lighting a roll of tobacco.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted. Or who you wanted.”

Steve stops, his shoulders hunching, caving in on himself. Some days he wishes he was still a scrap of nothing, not important enough for anyone to pay much attention to.

“No. It isn’t.”

It’s painful to admit. It feels like a betrayal. A betrayal of his mother who is dying and only wants the best for him.

“But it’s not Jim’s fault. Even if he has a terrible taste in drinking songs.”

“I know.”

Dum-Dum regards him for a long time. He is the oldest of the Howlies, a bachelor Alpha who Steve has never seen sniffing around any of the Omegas they had met on their travels, and Steve respected him for it. Too many Alphas use their biology as an excuse, and Steve will soon be one of them. He will be taking someone who does not want to be taken. It kills that Dum-Dum can see the thought on his face.

“Captain. You are a good man and James Barnes will see that.”

He clasps Steve’s shoulder, a gentle reminder of shared burdens and of things saved. Then he grins, just like old times.

“And think of the positives. We might see the female Alpha take on that asshole Rumlow in the tourney.”

Steve laughs, even if it still rings a tad hollow.

The week passes, both slower and faster than Steve would like. Travellers arriving for the tourney and the feasting. Young Alphas looking to test their mettle in the melee and families bringing their Omega children to the city in hopes of securing a good match. It is considered fortuitous to mate on the same day the nobility. As if they hold some magical key to a happy union. An absurd notion if Steve has ever heard one.

The day arrives with wane light and low hanging clouds. He would have preferred rain, but realizes how unpleasant that would have been on the ride over and feels chastised.

Steve is expected on the parapet looking over the courtyard, to welcome and watch over the arrivals. The Howlies refused to wait in the hall, too eager to catch the first glimpse of Steve’s new Omega.

The gates are dragged open as the Barnes family approaches. Colors of Rogers hung from every banner and flagpole. Colors of Barnes on pennons carried by the riders. It’s not an unpleasant color combination, the red and silver of Barnes’ crest against the blue, white and red of his own family insignia.

The woman leading the riders is first through the gates, Rebecca Barnes, the female Alpha. Dum-Dum and Falsworth both craning their necks to get a better look. Her white cape is almost blinding, even on such a dreary day, thick braid of brown hair thrown over her shoulder. She looks quite ordinary, tall and handsome, but Steve doubts any of the men would look at her twice if she was a Beta serving girl in one of the taverns.

She is followed by her father, George Barnes and two of his chevaliers. Then a young man riding a gelding.

Steve recognizes him in an instant. In a rush of summer heat, an illicit thrill of sneaking outside the castle walls, as if he is still twelve years old. Bucky is older, of course, stubble on his cheeks and long hair gathered at the back of his head in a messy knot. His shoulders are too wide to be really considered an attractive for an Omega, but his limbs are long an elegant, heels pressed down and thighs gripping the saddle.

Steve has carried Bucky with him, a secret held tightly to his heart. Wrapped himself in the fantastic stories Bucky had plucked from Steve’s silly drawings. Bucky, who had loved him, kissed him in a tree surrounded by fireflies even when no one else though he had any worth at all. Bucky, who had seen Steve before the Alpha stature and the commanding timbre of his voice. He had seen Steve and not found him wanting. He had held Steve’s face in his hands and given him wonder.

Bucky was, _is_ , an Omega. He will be Steve’s Omega.

 _He will be Steve’s_.

Bucky raises his eyes to the parapet, cold flat eyes running over their group. There is no recognition on his face and Steve’s heart stutters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry that this chapter is mostly exposition. I promise that I’ll get more to the heavy stuff (and angst! so much angst!) in the next chapter.
> 
> I probably won’t be able to update as frequently, but will try to get the next one up by next weekend.


	4. III. Bucky

_The way you play for me at your show  
And all the ways I got to know_

Everything is covered in the colors of the house of Rogers. It’s obnoxious and he can see the distaste in the curl of Becca’s lip as she rounds to the courtyard. Bucky appraises the people looking at them, the curious gazes from the sidelines and down from the parapet. For a brief moment, he catches the eyes of a handsome blond on the balcony.

Their horses are taken by the stable hands, as a group of acolytes approach. The first introduction is formal, especially now that the marriage has been agreed before the intended have met each other. The couple is not allowed to touch one another until the ceremony is completed. This particular edict is not always so strictly followed, as it is considered harsh even by the most devout, but it allows Bucky to remain behind Becca, as they make their way to the hall. Everyone except the families has been asked to leave and their footsteps echo ominously in the room. The man from the balcony stands in the middle of the room.

Rogers is huge, big even for an Alpha. Blond hair, big blue eyes and a nose that looks like it has been broken and re-set. His posture speaks of military and combat training. Bucky keeps returning to the big blue eyes, cornflower blue, he thinks. It reminds him of something, a nagging sensation at the back of his mind. He looks earnest, trying to smile at Bucky across the wall of acolytes.

Bucky looks away. He hates the sensation of that earnest smile, shifting to stand further behind Becca. He can’t help but shake his head at the irony. On the battlefield, he always hated Becca’s tendency to try and cover him, the way she always angled her shield for his protection rather than her own.

Rogers senior is shorter than his son, smaller in stature. His eyes are cold, appraising Bucky, finding him wanting.

“Ah, Barnes, welcome. And this is the breeder, I assume.”

He motions to Bucky dismissively and Bucky can see Becca bristling. Surprisingly so does Rogers.

“Father!”

His voice is sharp, commanding. Rogers places one of his large paws on his father’s shoulders. Bucky can see as the fingers dig into the flesh beneath the velvet coat. Father and son exchange icy looks, a silent battle of wills none of the others are privy to. Finally, Rogers senior looks away, coughs and allows the acolytes begin the formal introduction.

Bucky keeps his gaze on the floor throughout. He can feel Rogers trying to catch his eye, that smile chasing him. He is grateful once the formalities are over and he can return back to Becca, back to hiding behind her. His father gives him a withering, pitying look, but says nothing. He is, after all, acting the perfect submissive Omega.

He is surprised to see Rogers following him, rather than going back to his own family. As if on order Becca takes her cue and moves forward facing off with Rogers and extends her hand.

“Captain Rogers.”

He stops in front of her, clearly wanting to move past, but not wanting to appear rude.

“Commander Barnes. This is an honor ma’am.”

Rogers sounds so sincere, wide eyes, like he is genuinely honored to meet Becca rather than sizing her up. His eyes keep flicking behind her as they speak, looking for Bucky.

“Ma’am, would it be possible to speak with you brother in private?”

Bucky tenses. He is not ready. He just needs a bit more time. He wonders if prisoners condemned to the gallows feel this on their walk to the noose, this desperation to cling to the final scraps of life.

“I’m sorry Captain, we would prefer to do this the traditional way.”

Rogers’ shoulders sag, his hopeful smile fading into something less sincere.

“As you wish ma’am. I will, of course, respect your wishes.”

Bucky feels the tension draining from Becca as they leave the hall, her hand coming to rest gently on his good shoulder, looking for grounding. They are given lodgings in the south-facing tower. The guards and acolytes attempt to stop her from joining Bucky at the tower’s base, blocking her way, until they manage to explain their relation to one another.

The presence of an unmated Alpha so near a betrothed Omega is considered indecent, if not dangerous. The lead acolyte looks at the both disbelieving until both Becca and Bucky offer her their wrists. The old woman sniffs them gently, her nose remaining a respectable distance from skin. She pulls back, her form still bent as she blesses herself with a touch of her fingers to the forehead.

Alpha and Omega sibling pairs are rare. Not long after Bucky had presented, a scholar had come to the house to speak with both of them. Bucky remembers that he had asked several questions on Becca’s scent. Bucky had given the scholar a sneer and told him that his sister did not smell, and did he take them for some kind of unwashed heathens.

It was not until later that he and Becca realized that Alphas, Omegas, and Betas relate to one another via scent. That scent is the cornerstone of their society, an ordinance that governs all behavior, and their inability to smell each other was seen as aberrant. To each other he did not smell any different when Becca scent-marked him, but he had seen the differences in other Alphas when he was disguised in comparison to his natural scent.

He can now, after much exposure to other Alphas, recognize Becca’s scent in a crowd, but distinguishing it from his own is still difficult.

The scholar had explained that the phenomenon was to stop in-family breeding. Becca had made a face that she only made around boiled cabbage and told the scholar in no uncertain terms how disgusting she found him and explained that she would not be breeding with anyone, ever, and neither would Bucky. The old man had laughed at her, not unkindly, and explained that one day they would both meet and an Alpha and an Omega whose scent they liked more than anything and would form a bond stronger than anything else in the world.

Becca had made her cabbage face again and dragged Bucky out of the room to practice archery with her. But the old man’s words had stayed with Bucky, and he had thought of late fall apples and elderflowers, and that maybe there was a boy out there somewhere whose scent was meant only for him.

Bucky knows now how naive and fanciful those thoughts had been. How silly he had been.

The week of celebrations passes slowly. Bucky spends most of his days confined to his room and nights exploring the castle under the guise of Becca’s scent. It is the first time he has let Becca disguise him since Azzano, but he needs the advantage of knowing his new home before he is left alone without allies. By the time the town is ready for the Tournament he has a fairly comprehensive map of the castle and surrounding areas.

The Tourney is the most public part of the ceremonies. It gives the people an opportunity to see the mating pair and gives both sides of the agreement an occasion to show off their best fighters.

The melee is held outside the walls in a cordoned off area in the fields beyond the castle. Neither Rogers or Barnes are sending in any fighters, this is a chance for young Alphas to make a name for themselves and win a small stipend, something to start a life with.

Bucky and Becca watch the fighting from the wall, high up and wind in their hair. She observes the fighters, her eyes darting across the field. Bucky knows she is looking for recruits, young potential for the guard and beyond. All the houses are losing fighters on the southern borders.

He points to a young lad on the edge of the melee. Skinnier than most, but scrappy. She follows, catches the lad with her eyes.

“That one? Really?”

“Yes. He’ll be scrappy, won’t give up in a fight. Won’t run. Look at him.”

The boy is taking a beating but is still pushing onwards. She watches for a few moments more and then motions to one of the chevaliers. He will go down to the field and will pull the lad out of the scuffle. Will offer him training, a bunk in the barracks. A soldier’s life. Most will take it, will take it gladly, an escape from a farmstead and a chance to make a name for yourself.

Becca will be fighting later in the day, in the Passage of Arms as is customary. Each family would nominate a fighter to represent their House. Their father disapproves, but no other Alphas from the guard would dare to try and take the honor of representing the family at Bucky’s Tourney.

“Who will be opposing you?”

She grimaces.

“Rumlow. He’s the head of Rogers’ guards.”

Bucky knows who he is, but there is no need for Becca to know that, for her to take any more needless risks for him.

It had only been a passing moment in a corridor, near the kitchens. A hissed _A pretty Omega like you shouldn’t go wandering on his own_ and _Once Rogers heads off to the south again, and believe you me he will, your delectable little ass will be mine to do with as I please_. Alpha smell like acid and steel.

Bucky doesn’t shudder. At least Rogers’ smile had been earnest.

Later that afternoon he watches dispassionately as another body is dragged off the field. Rumlow had made easy work of most of the fighters in the Tourney. Becca had been less brutal, but no less efficient. They stand now, facing each other, swords raised. They had both agreed to forego shields.

He is seated in a special Omega gallery set close to the ground, while his father and their hosts are in the royal box, above the fighting. It was an old custom, a belief that the sight of the Tourney would drive an Omega into a heat.

Rumlow circles Becca in the field, jabbing and teasing, driving the fighting towards Bucky. The Alpha’s eyes flick between him and Becca, as if making sure that he is watching.

“You know, when Rogers get’s tired of him, it’ll be my turn.”

It’s not loud enough to be heard in the royal box where Rogers and his father sit, but enough to carry to him on the lower level.

“I’ll fuck him open and knot him till he screams for more.”

Bucky sees Becca’s nostrils flare, the way her shoulders pull gently back. He knows the signs, has seen them himself enough before.

The other Alphas always though too little of her, always turned their backs, taunted her. Bucky is not sure if she is just built differently, the muscles and the power compressed into a slighter frame, or if she had to learn to fight differently, more dirty, using every advantage.

When the punch comes, it takes Rumlow off his guard. He was expecting her sword, protecting his flank, rather than against her left fist that connects to his side and pushes him to his knees. She grasps his hair, pulling back for another punch now aimed at his face with the hilt of her sword.

Rumlow goes down like a sack of flour and the crowd gasps. Becca is on him, her fingers wrapping around his throat and her fist slamming into his unprotected face again and again.

The arena is eerily silent, only the wet sound of her fist connecting to bone and tissue.

“Becca. Stop!”

It takes Bucky a moment to realize that it was his voice carrying across the silence. Becca freezes, her fist in the air. Their eyes connect across the distance and she knows that he heard what Rumlow said. Bucky turns to look up into the box and he sees Rogers and his men leaning against the banister, eyes wide, horrified.

Bucky can see his father leaning back in his chair, a slight gleam of satisfaction in his eyes, which he always manages to hide when Becca is looking.

She rises and Bucky knows how much she is fighting the shaking in her legs. Slowly she picks up her discarded sword and salutes towards their father, towards Rogers and his men. Then she turns and walks to him. With the wooden fence covered in the banners of the house of Rogers between them, she lifts her bloody fingers and anoints him with Rumlow’s blood. A bright red stripe down his left cheek, then his right, a battlefield blessing.

Through the ringing in his ears Bucky can hear a slow clap starting. He looks up and sees it’s the mustachioed Alpha standing next to Rogers. He is looking at Becca with a mixture of apprehension and admiration.

Becca doesn’t go to the feast set up for all the Alphas who had competed during the day. Instead, she comes to Bucky’s room, carrying a box, long and awkward in her arms. She lays it on the table for him.

The lid is smooth wood under his fingertips, as he opens it. A bow and a quiverful of arrows. His bow mended and polished and his daggers gleaming, flush against the dark velvet interior. He has not touched them in an age, not since Azzano. Since his shame had become public knowledge. When subterfuge of scent marking and face covering armor had no longer been enough.

“You can take them and we can leave this place. I will run with you to the end of the earth if I have to.”

Bucky’s stomach twists in pain and longing. He wants to, wants to so much. But he thinks of Becca, standing against invading forces, trying to hold the tide back, to defend what is left of their home. Bucky would condemn it all if he were to leave now.

He turns to his sister, the only person who truly knows him, from whom nothing is hidden.

“Becca. Please. Give me the dignity of my choice.”

She cries then, the tears falling hot and thick down her cheeks as Bucky holds her.

“You are our last line of defense if this goes ill. You need to hold the line if Rogers doesn’t stick to the bargain.”

“But I’m your last line of defense. Who will hold the line for you?”

Bucky kisses her forehead, a benediction in return. He doesn’t have an answer for her. He doesn’t know how to articulate for her that no one needs to hold the line for him anymore. He is going to let the onslaught come and wipe him away.

She stays with him that night, lying in bed next to him the way they did when they were children. Bucky is grateful, so grateful. The warm comforting presence allows him to sleep even when he knows what the sunrise will bring.

It brings his wedding day.

It brings a host of servants who are packing their things. Becca’s to return home and his to move into Rogers’ rooms in the castle. He makes sure that Becca’s gift is securely packed and transported before the acolytes come for him. They sniff and glower at Becca but none of them dare to voice their objections.

They lead him into the maze of the Chantry complex, a cloistered room in the center of it, with walls of intricately carved, honey-colored stone, air filled with steam and oils. Bucky wonders how many Omegas have been washed and prepared here before him. The line of them, stretching behind him, if only he dared to look.

He sits in the pool, the water is warm and fragrant. The acolytes lean over the sides, washing his body and hair. They take surprising care with the mangled flesh of his shoulder. Part of him is grateful, grateful for a touch that is kind, no matter how impersonal it is.

They don’t give him any of the ceremonial drugs. Rogers had forbidden it, or so the acolytes tell him in disapproving tones. Maybe he wants Bucky to feel it all, no relief or hiding in an altered state of mind. He regrets now, not having packed any of his own. Becca has offered to procure things for him, things to make the first night easier but Bucky had refused. In that moment he had wanted the suffering, welcomed it, feeling himself deserving of it. Now that Rogers has denied him the drugs it feels less like his own choice, but another form of control.

The lead acolytes huff in distress at the sight of his clothing. Becca had replaced the ceremonial robes with garments very similar to his stolen chevaliers uniform. Bucky is sure that the only thing keeping the acolytes from protesting was Becca’s performance in the tourney, the wet crunch her fist had made against Rumlow’s face.

The uniform feels good, grounding. The jacket is well fitted, but designed to move in combat. Boots and breeches, well worn and soft.

Becca meets her outside the washing rooms. The washing rooms are the one place in the complex that Alphas are never allowed to enter. They walk together through the small garden into the chapel and the sanctum beyond.

Like the first meeting, the ceremony itself is private. The only ones allowed in the sanctum besides the intended is close family. Bucky walks in with Becca, their father already seated and not looking at them, his eyes focused on the intricate altarpiece depicting the fall of man from paradise. Becca walks with him all the way to the dais, standing next to him as he takes his place on the kneeler.

Her fingers brush his shoulder gently as if sweeping away a spec of dust. She lingers, too long for propriety, but Bucky doesn’t care. This is the last time, possibly the last touch between them. He knows that Rogers senior has stipulated that his family must leave after the ceremony, as soon as the ownership of Bucky has been transferred to his son.

He is not sure how long he waits, kneeling, eyes drawn to the light filtering down from the domed windows at the back of the sanctum, the dust particles that float in the air. The position aggravates his back and shoulder, the muscles starting to pull uncomfortably, and once more Bucky wishes that he had been allowed the drugs.

Finally the wrought iron gates that separate the sanctum from the rest of the chapel open. Bucky doesn’t turn around, he merely bows his head like a good Omega and waits. His shoulder throbs. He can hear people taking seats, he can hear the acolytes argue with Rogers in angry whispers.

Then he feels Rogers behind him, his body radiating warmth, his overpowering Alpha scent enveloping Bucky’s senses. He lifts his hand to Bucky’s neck as is customary, and Bucky fights not to flinch away from the touch. Rogers seems to sense it anyway and his touch eases, with only his fingertips touching Bucky’s skin.

The cleric is old, his form stooped and his breathing laborious. His sermon is long winded and Bucky tries to adjust his weight from left to right in order to give his back some release. Rogers’ fingers follow his movements but they exert no pressure.

Rogers says his vows. He promises to protect and keep, to comfort and shelter. The cleric turns to him:

“You will obey him, and serve him, honor, and keep him; forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as you shall live.”

Bucky nods, not that his acquiescence is needed, but it makes him feel more in control if he thinks of it as a question. Thinks that he is consenting to this, that he has a part to play in what happens around him.

Rogers’ fingers gently rub his skin under the cover of Bucky’s hair. The contact unsettles him, it seems less possessive, more comforting. He wants to shake off the touch, but doesn’t dare.

The banquet hall is noisy and filled with people, he and Rogers are directed to a table on a raised platform, on show for everyone to see. The courses pass by in a blur. Bucky keeps looking for Becca in the crowd and remembering that she is on her way back home. Only her home now, not Bucky’s anymore. He thinks of the ancient rope, pulled taut between them, standing on opposite banks and how long it will last before age and decay snaps it.

During the dessert he is collected from the table by a group of Beta servants dressed all in white. The scene is greeted by hoots and hollers from the crowd. Bucky keeps his eyes down, not wanting to meet anyone’s gaze.

The servants take him to Rogers’ rooms, which take up an entire floor in the west tower and are filled with well-worn, if slightly shabby furniture.

Clothing has been laid out for him, shimmering silks, see-through and seductive. Instead, he picks an ordinary linen shirt. One from his own, which he had brought to wear on an ordinary day. It hangs to his mid-thigh, offering some cover and the heavy fabric hides the deformity of his shoulder. He wouldn’t want to put Rogers off his feast. It’s an ugly, vicious though.

Bucky climbs into the bed, knees sinking into the opulent covers. It is the only piece of furniture in the rooms which has an air of luxury. All this work, all this wealth on display. Bucky wonders if it had been set up on purpose. If this show of power is here to remind him of his place, of what he is here for. He presses the scar tissue on his shoulder, waking the pain like an old friend. It grounds him, reminds him of the uses his body will be put to. He knows exactly where to twist and drag his fingers to pull out the worst agony.

There is cold sweat gathered at the base of his spine when he finally finishes. His hands are trembling as he lays them flat on the bedspread. It’s silky under his fingers. He bends, his forehead between his palms, like in prayer, presenting. He wonders if there is a god who hears the prayers of Omegas. Someone who hears, but does nothing.

Bucky breathes out, exhale like water against the sheets and waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that was also a lot of exposition, Again. Sorry.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has left comments! They really make my day :)


	5. IV. Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You get another chapter because I’m on [#teamBucky](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S2Rhic_fpmc). 
> 
> Also I’m off to a work trip and I don’t want to post porn though my work computer. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

_And all the ways I got to know  
Your pretty face and electric soul_

The Howlies cheer and shake him as they prod him down the hallway, tankards of ale in hand, spilling on the flagstones. They have consumed their fair share of the wine and ale on offer at the banquet and had finally decided that it was time for Steve to retire to his wedding chamber. He had been putting it off ever since the maids in white came to collect Bucky with hollers and cheers from the crowd. Instead of following a few moments after as was customary, he had found the Howlies and carried on drinking.

He knows that Bucky is waiting for him. Bucky, who doesn’t remember who he is. Bucky who has done everything to avoid him since he arrived. Bucky who looks at him with cold eyes and introduced himself as James.

The Howlies start to sing, a lewd song about an Alpha who could not perform on his wedding night. The words echo in the stone hallways as they slowly progress towards the west tower.

Steve stops at the tower entrance, turning to his friends, his family.

“Alright you hellions! Back to the party with you, I’m not having my performance questioned where he can hear!”

He tries to sound light, joking even. He thinks that he is almost there, but Dum-Dum gives him a gentle look, revealing the lie. Instead of calling Steve on it, Dum-Dum collards the Howlies and leads them back across the yard and Steve watches as they disappear back into the main hall. The air around him is cold, a forewarning of the coming winter.

The hallway is cloaked in shadow, only a few torches lit to light his way. He leans against the cool, shooting wall for a moment trying to still his racing heart, his palm on the worn wood of the door. Bucky is just behind the wall, waiting for him. Waiting _for_ Steve.

The scent hits him as soon as he opens the door. Acrid and cloying, it’s fear and pain, a hand over your windpipe, a dagger slipped between ribs in the dark. It wraps itself around Steve. He breathes through his mouth, moving into the room. For a moment he is transported back to the slave market in the south, watching Omegas bought and sold, bonded and raped on the streets.

Bucky is on the bed, knees spread and head down. Presenting. The scent gets stronger as Steve approaches but Bucky doesn’t move. He just waits, still as a statue. Steve wants to gag.

His mother had leaned to him during the feast, just before she retired, her words faint:

“Be kind to him, Steven. He looks very frightened.”

They echo in his head now as he breathes in the scent of fear. The first undiluted essence of his mate is marred with horror.

“James...Please get up.”

Words like taffy in his mouth. He doesn’t want to touch Bucky, not right now, and his sentiment sounds hollow, unequal to the task. Bucky rises, like a puppet on a string and turns on his knees, eyes flat. Steve can’t help but notice the muscles flexing on Bucky’s thighs as he shifts on the bed, the shirt he is wearing barely covering his groin. He chastises himself, this is truly not the time to admire the physical form of his new mate.

Steve drags his eyes to Bucky’s face as he speaks:

“Do I displease you?”

His eyes flicking down.

“Would you prefer if I presented on the floor?”

“No!”

“Then why are you not...”

 _Claiming me_ hangs unsaid in the air between them.

Steve hesitates. It’s not good manners to tell someone that their scent is displeasing.

“I can… I can smell that you’re really unhappy. That you’re afraid.”

Bucky looks away, ashamed, his body curling in on itself.

“You should have let them give me the drugs.”

The words are quiet as if Bucky is speaking more to himself, but Steve hears then none the less. The sentiments shocks him.

“I didn’t want you to be drugged on your wedding day!”

Bucky looks back at him, maybe shocked that Steve had heard him. His body is completely still, forced and stiff.

“Why not? It would have been easier for me.”

It hits Steve like a punch in the gut, a body blow. The realization that Bucky thought Steve wanted him to be afraid, to be in pain. The giddy expectation in his gut and the lewd but gentle jokes of the Howlies now feeling so shallow. While he had been drinking with his friends, celebrating, Bucky had been here, alone, presenting and filling the room with fear and dread.

“I… I thought…”

How could he explain that he thought that the drugs were archaic, a barbaric tradition that took away Omega’s autonomy and consent. How could he try to explain, when his father had bought Bucky in a trade over land.

He chooses the truth, but only in parts.

“I just wanted you to know what was happening. I thought that would be less scary.”

Bucky tilts his head to the side and for the first time there is a slight crack in the wall behind his gaze.

“I can see why you would think that. Becca thought like that too. But she did offer me the drugs.”

Steve doesn’t know how to respond. He has no script beyond the fantasy in his head. A stupid fantasy of Bucky waiting for him with a smile on his face, body relaxed and content. Them falling into the bed together, rucking up the sheets and each other in the process. Bucky’s voice interrupts his thoughts.

“What would you like for me to do?”

He is still on the bed, kneeling in the same position.

“Please get dressed. I’ll… I’ll get us some food.”

He goes out to the hallway, the air is cool and blessedly lacking in any scent. Down the second set of stairs he finally spots a maid, and with his best Alpha voice commands her to bring food to his chambers. When he returns Bucky is standing by the window, fully dressed and looking out into the dark night. Some of the scent has dissipated and the room smells less like a torture chamber.

The servants knock, but don’t enter. The wedding chamber is off limits to all for two days and two nights. Steve collects the heaving trays and makes space on his desk for a feast.

He watches Bucky eat, watches his eyes flickering back and forth between the food and Steve as if he is expecting Steve to pounce on him any moment. Bucky doesn’t offer conversation and Steve doesn’t know what to say, how to start over.

The first night is awkward. Steve can feel Bucky lying stiffly on the other side of the mattress, as far away from his as the width of the bed allows.

The next day follows a pattern. Food. Sleep. Bucky watching his every move.

His mother sends summons after the second day. A tad too early for propriety but Steve wants to get out, away from the stifling atmosphere of the room. Away from Bucky’s eyes that constantly track him as if he is some kind of a wild animal.

She’s sitting in her bed, fully dressed for the day and surrounded by her books. Her smile is warm and welcoming as she spots Bucky entering behind Steve.

“James. Thank you for coming, I feel that I have not had a chance to properly meet you in all the festivities.”

“Of course, my lady.”

He is somber, formal, not meeting her eyes. Steve is surprised when his mother speaks.

“Steven, could you please pop over to the library and retrieve my Ulysses. I think that I forgot it there yesterday.”

The library is on the other side of the castle, at least a quarter of an hour walk away. His mother’s eyes are expectant. Bucky stands stiffly in the middle of the room, not looking at either of them, and Steve is not entirely sure if he is more worried for his mother or for Bucky.

He tarries in the room until his mother gives him a pointed look and a _Now please, Steven_ , with her best disciplinarian voice.

Steve tries to move as fast as possible without running. He does end up running across the courtyard, just to avoid being pulled into congratulations, and _how is your new mate_.

Steve rushes back down the hall, past the tapestries without looking, until he stands at the door, battered copy of Ulysses in hand, listening to the murmur of voices. It’s probably the most that he has heard Bucky speak and he can’t even make out the words. He knocks gently and enters.

Bucky is sitting on the reading chair by the window, just on the edge of the seat as if he is ready to spring up at any moment, but his eyes seem to have lost some of their ice, his body some of its stiffness. He stands as soon as Steve enters, gaze sliding to the window, again avoiding everyone in the room.

“Steven, thank you. James, I do appreciate you indulging me in a little conversation, and please do not be a stranger.”

It’s a clear dismissal, and Steve is not sure if his mother is sending Bucky away for his or Steve’s sake. She was always the best diplomat, her face like a mirror, never giving anything away unless she wanted to.

After Bucky is gone, his mother turns to him, her eyes gentle but sharp.

“You didn’t bond with him.”

Steve feels his face redden, blush spreading over his ears and down his neck.

“Um… I just… It would have been unkind.”

He fidgets with the faded bedspread and she reaches for him, her long, elegant fingers wrapping around his huge ones.

“I know. But you don’t have much time.”

Steve nods miserably. He is well aware that he must keep his side of the bargain if he has any chance of keeping his father’s warmongering at bay.

“So, um… What did you talk about?”

Her smile is cryptic.

“What can two omegas possibly have to say to one another?”

She laughs at his chagrin.

“Don’t look so glum Steven. We mostly spoke how I had settled here all those years ago.”

She smiles at him softly, fondly. Steve wonders if his mother is happy to have another Omega in the household. Wonders if his mother’s company will provide Bucky some happiness.

“Your father and I had a very similar courtship to you and James. Very traditional, no meetings before the actual ceremony, from strangers into married life.”

Steve thinks of Bucky, waiting for him after the wedding, thinks of his mother in the same situation, and slams the thought away instantly, the pain of it too much to bear.

His mother is looking at him curiously, the pinched look on his face must telegraph his thoughts.

“What happened, Steven?”

“He was waiting for me… He was so scared… He thought I was going to...”

His breath stutters, a sob and he slides off the bed, onto his knees to the ground. This is what he deserves, supplication in front of Bucy, but he won’t accept it from Steve, won’t even let Steve near enough for him to offer.

His mother’s hands are soft and gentle in his hair.

“But you didn’t. And neither did your father. You and James can find a way through this.”

Her hands on his jaw force him to look up and her gaze holds so much love that it is painful to look on, like staring directly at the sun.

“You are a good man, Steven. He will let you in eventually, just give him some time.”

Steve buries his face in the midnight blue fabric of her skirt, spread out on the bed, hiding like he used to do as a child. She pets his hair as she was wont to do back then, allowing Steve this small measure of comfort.

“Joseph should never have asked his family to leave so soon, but what is done is done now, and we must all live with it.”

Her hands squeeze his shoulders, motioning him to get up. She pulls out her ledger and writes down a brief note.

“You should get a healer for him, to take a look at his shoulder.”

Steve is unbalanced by the sudden change in conversation.

“His shoulder?”

“You read the offer letters, did you not?”

Steve had barely glanced at them, the agreement already made by the time he had returned home, what would have been the point.

“Uh… Most of them. Looked through them. Quickly.”

His mother nods, most likely guessing his lack of knowledge.

“He has an injury to his shoulder. They mentioned it in passing in the report on his health, but the lead acolyte form the chapel spoke to me after the ceremony on how extensive the damage is.”

Steve remembers now, how Bucky had shifted and moved during the ceremony as if he was trying to ease discomfort. He had been too preoccupied with the soft skin at the nape of Bucky’s neck. That soft brush of his fingers is still the only touch that has passed between them, and Steve is not sure how to bridge the gap between them that seems to grow exponentially every passing day.

He knows so little of Bucky. He only has his memories from that hot summer, but that was an age ago now. It’s the years that changed Bucky from that carefree boy into the guarded man that Steve has no knowledge of, and Bucky does not seem inclined to let him learn.

His mother continues to make notes into her ledger, speaking as if she is merely thinking out loud.

“And after you have bonded, you will be able to help him as well.”

Steve looks up in surprise.

“I thought that was just a myth?”

She shakes her head.

“It’s not spoken of, even the Chantry does not like to speak of it. I guess it makes illness less like God’s decision.”

The change in his father and his mother’s illness all now make sick sort of sense. The distance and coolness between them. How they are rarely seen together anymore. His mother turns the page, looking up at him, her face measured.

“The bond is not the cause of the illness, but a strained bond can make it worse.”

“So he could help you?”

His voice breaks at the end. The anger he has felt towards his father since returning burning bright in his chest.

“Steven, please try to understand that your father’s emotions run far deeper than even he truly understands. My illness cuts him to the core, so much so that he cannot find the will to try and aid me. It would cause him too much pain to remain open with me and still watch me die.”

“How can he be such a coward?”

She smiles sadly.

“He isn’t. I hope that you and James will never face this decision, but try to understand that both I and your father are doing the best we can.”

“He isn’t doing his best!”

How can she not see that, how can she not make him help. How can _Steve_ not make him help her.

“Steven!”

Her voice is sharp in a way that it rarely gets with him.

“This is our choice, please respect that.”

She closes the ledger with a snap, ending the conversation.

Steve staggers out of the room and into the hallway, stopping in front of the _Omega and the Unicorn_. He now realizes how placid the Omega looks, how vacant his eyes are. The legend tells that only Omegas, pure and innocent, are able to touch unicorns. Bucky is pure too, or so the marriage documents and the legend of Azzano claim. But he is not innocent, Steve can smell that, a body that has known pain; has known enough suffering to expect it.

Steve knows that eventually, _soon_ , he will have to mate and bond with Bucky, and he seems to know it too, seems to have accepted it. But Steve can’t. The powerlessness, the rage, the nightmare world of the slave markets of the south haunt him, and he can’t become one of them. The Alphas dragging their prizes across crowded streets by their hair, Omegas bent over in alleyways, knotted open.

He stumbles into the private garden fixed to his mother’s wing and vomits.

He thinks of the two books hidden in his rooms. One of ancient fairy stories deemed heresy by the Chantry, stories of Alphas and Omegas courting under starry skies, meadowsweet, and sweetpea in the air. The other is a book of woodcut prints of sexual practices, many of them now banned or frowned on.

He looks through them when the nightmares get bad, a reminder for himself that there are good ways of being an Alpha, that there are ways for him to bring pleasure to his Omega. That the things that he wants in the deep of the night are not necessarily evil.

When Steve makes it back to his, _their_ , rooms Bucky is curled up by the window, a blanket wrapped around his body like armor.

They sleep in the same room for appearances sake, backs to each other and a gulf of sheets and pillows between them. Sometimes he thinks that Bucky leaves the room in the night. He has dreams of waking alone, Bucky’s side of the bed cold and vacant, but he is always there in the morning light, so he says nothing.

Steve stays away from the tower as much as he can. Training with the Howlies and overseeing the new guards in training as Rumlow is still out of commission after the Tourney.

Bucky spends most of his days reading, sending the servants to the library with a list as long as Steve’s arm. His scent begins to fill the room, permeate the sheets and the furniture so that it begins to feel more like Bucky’s room than his own. On some days when Steve returns he can smell the stories Bucky has been reading in the air, the faraway places and adventures.

To fill up the silence he starts to ask about the books, asks Bucky to tell him what he is reading about when they lie facing away from each other in the dark. His voice is like honey, slowly pouring from the jar as he describes the heroic escapes, beautiful foreign landscapes and for a short time Steve is transported into the tree surrounded by fireflies and he can imagine what happiness would feel like.

Then Bucky disappears.

At first Steve doesn’t tell anyone, fearful that the balance of power he has managed to negotiate with his father would tip. After a day and a night, he asks the Howlies to help. Another day passes and Steve is ready to send Denier out to Barnes castle, not to bring Bucky back, but just to know that he is safe.

He looks at the agreement documents by accident. They are on his desk, the letters and contract drafts, the offer agreement, and a statement from a healer who had examined Bucky for the marriage. It has a record of his heat history. The last dated three moons ago.

Steve lets the Howlies know. They keep searching. Steve wonders if Bucky has found another Alpha to look after him if he is so disgusted by Steve that he can’t bear to undergo the heat with him near. The memory of the acrid smell still lingers in the back of his throat.

It’s Denier who finally finds him, deep in the bowels of the castle. He and Gabe lead Steve into the oldest part of the keep, into the derelict cells that have not been in use for decades. Down the longest hallway, furthest away from people you can get without leaving the keep.

In the low light Steve spots the lump in the back of the cell. A shapeless form of blankets, tapestries, pillows and other assorted soft things. A nest.

Bucky stares at them with wide, glassy eyes. He doesn’t move but Steve can see a slight glint of metal among the fabrics surrounding him. The growl escapes his chest unbidden and Bucky retreats further into the nest, pulling his body against the wall.

“Cap. You keeping it together?”

Gabe’s tone is light and careful. Neither him or Denier move, keeping a distance from the bars that separates the cell from the hallway.

Steve’s chest is aching. He wants to forcibly remove Gabe and Denier from his Omega’s proximity. He wants to wiggle into the nest next to Bucky and knot him until neither of them remembers their own names. He wants to bring precious gifts and proofs of his conquests to Bucky’s feet. But none of these are things that Bucky has asked for or seems to want.

They should all leave. Let Bucky endure his heat in private, the way that he clearly planned to. But Steve can’t, this is his _mate_ even if only in name.

“Please stand guard by the last turning.”

Close enough for guard duty, but out of earshot. Both Gabe and Denier give him look that without any words communicate that they will quite happily cut off his balls.

“Oh. No! That’s not…”

Denier raises an eyebrow, challenging. They are both Betas, used to and not intimidated by Alpha posturing.

Steve fidgets, unsure of how to explain himself.

“I just don’t want him to be alone.”

Gabe moves closer to the bar, ignoring Steve’s warning growl.

“James, we’ll be just down the hall. If he does anything you don’t want just shout.”

Denier nods and gives a friendly salute. Bucky doesn’t respond, but Steve thinks that he can see a slight relaxing in his posture. The metallic glint by his arm disappears into the blankets.

The old iron grating creaks and complains as Steve moves into the cell. Bucky’s scent is intoxicating, a mixture of spicy cinnamon and hot summer evening. It waxes and wanes as Steve gingerly sits by the wall. Near enough to reach out and touch but still outside the nest.

Bucky’s eyes track him, his nostrils flaring, scenting the air. His body twitches, sudden and uncontrolled and Steve reaches out for him, but stops himself, hand in mid-air. He has not been invited to touch. Before he can pull back Bucky’s hand shoots out, lightning quick, grabbing his wrist. He pulls Steve’s hand to his face, nose running along the sensitive underside of his wrist, searching for the scent glands. Bucky rubs his nose and face against the skin. His eyes are closed, flared nostrils pressed tight to the junction of Steve’s palm and wrist.

Steve’s head is swimming and he is hard, painfully so, with his knot throbbing at the base of his cock. He closes his eyes, but the darkness only emphases the feel of Bucky’s skin against his own. The smell of him in the cell.

His eyes fly open as Bucky’s sharp little tongue laps against the skin. Bucky wraps his lips around the pulse point and sucks on the glands. Steve moans, he can’t help himself, the sound is drawn out of him like by a torturer’s blade. This is the closest he has ever been to a nonthreatened Omega in heat. Bucky seems completely absorbed by Steve’s wrist, licking and sucking on the glands. Steve wonders what he tastes like, what he smells like to Bucky.

Bucky whines and snorts, breathing hard through his nose, his eyes still closed and Steve shoves his free hand into his breeches, palm squeezing his blown out knot. It only takes a few strokes of his dry hand to finish. His orgasm feeling more like a punch in the stomach than a release. He pants and swears though the shakes.

When he opens his eyes again Bucky is watching him, his gaze still glassy, but alert. Slowly he starts to pull on the wrist he is holding and Steve can do nothing but follow.

He is pulled into the nest, against Bucky’s feverish torso, which is still wrapped in sheets and blankets. Their bodies slot together even through the layers of fabric. Bucky pushes his face against Steve’s neck, nosing the glands at the base of his jaw. Scenting him.

Gently Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s back, letting his own face press against the Omega’s neck, finding the source of that delectable scent. He presses his nose into the skin, lets his lips graze over the pulse point and Bucky whimpers, shuddering and twisting in the embrace.

Steve angles his thigh upwards as soon as he realizes that Bucky is seeking friction with his hips, giving Bucky something to bear against. Hands traveling down to the small of Bucky’ back, rubbing gentle circles through the fabrics constraining the other man. He whispers a litany of _I’ve got you, you’re ok, I’m here_ against the sweaty skin of Bucky’s neck.

Bucky’s hips are canting harder and he whines against Steve’s neck in frustration, the sheets, and quilts restricting his movements. Steve slides his hand lower, under Bucky’s rump and lifts him against Steve’s thigh, giving him friction and pressure. His fingers find a damp patch and Steve tries hard to not think what that means.

Bucky gives an appreciative groan, especially after Steve’s fingers curl upwards, holding him in place. Steve rubs his nose against Bucky’s scent glands, parts his lips and licks a gentle stripe. The taste of Bucky is like coals down his spine and Bucky jackrabbits against his thigh at the touch. Feeling bold, Steve opens his lips against Bucky’s neck and gently sucks on the glands.

Bucky wails, his whole body stiffening as he comes, face pressed tight to Steve’s neck, his heat scent wrapping around Steve like a physical force. Steve runs his hand down Bucky’s back and over his ass, trying to gentle the tremors, his lips still licking and sucking on the sensitive glands.

Eventually Bucky stills and Steve realizes that he has fallen asleep, his nose pressed deep into Steve’s shoulder. Steve wonders how long Bucky had lain awake in the darkness, waiting for the heat to pass. There is a waterskin near the nest, and a pouch of dried fruits, a loaf of bread, foods that will keep for days.

Steve leans back, collecting Bucky more securely in his arms, settling into the nest proper. He dozes in and out of consciousness, waking to see Denier checking in and dropping some food and water outside the cell. Steve thanks him with a small wave of his hand still wrapped around Bucky’s back.

Bucky shuffles and huffs against his neck a few times, but otherwise his sleep is deep and undisturbed. Steve runs gentle hands down his back and pets his hair.

He had never expected this contented closeness that settles over him, happiness in the certainty of knowledge that his Omega is taken care of. The desire to knot and to claim is still there, in the back of his head, but easily overlooked by the need to make Bucky feel safe. The need to curl up in the dark and breathe in Bucky’s scent mingling with his own. Steve lets his eyes close, watching fireflies behind his eyelids.

“Steve?”

Bucky rubs his nose against his neck, a gentle wake up call. Steve feels groggy, he is not sure how long he has been asleep. Their bodies are still entwined in the nest, hot sweat running down his spine.

“Steve, you awake?”

He grunts and instinctively pulls Bucky closer to his body, possessive and sleepy. Bucky has freed his hand from the captivity of the blankets and rubs it against Steve’s chest. The motion makes him growl, a low rumble that Bucky seems to like, his smile shy and unguarded.

“We should…”

Bucky licks his lips, wetting them with the tip of his tongue and looks away.

“We should do it now. Consummate the marriage. Do the bond.”

Steve noses the side of his face, lips grazing Bucky’s cheek.

“Is that what you want?”

Steve asks carefully.

“We should do it now. The heat is tailing off but I’m still feeling it. It’ll make it easier. For me.”

His voice is quiet, hesitant. Bucky had wanted the drugs for the same reason. Steve had denied him once before and he could not do so again. He hopes that maybe they can preserve this gentle feel of the nest, take it with them. Fireflies and summer heat.

“Alright, but not here.”


	6. V. Bucky

_Oh that grace, oh that body_

Gabe and Denier make sure that the halls are empty as they make their way back to the west tower. It’s late, or early, and they encounter no one one the way, whether due to the hour or due to Gabe and Denier’s diversion tactics.

Steve is carrying an armful of the bedding and pillows which Bucky had used to build his den. This is the first heat that he has spent with an Alpha and it has not been what he expected. Bucky can feel the tacky, dried up slick on the backs of his legs and in the crack of his arse. He can feel the ghost touch of Steve’s fingers pressing down against him. It makes him shiver, a hot flush of shame. He had wanted it, had wanted Steve to peel away the layers and sink his fingers inside. A place that even Bucky had avoided touching.

Gabe and Denier leave them by the door of the tower with a relaxed salute and wave, before disappearing back into the keep.

They stand awkwardly in the hall. The honeyed heat smell of the bedding slowly scenting the air around them.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to?”

Steve is offering him an out. For a brief moment, Bucky considers taking it, but he knows that he can no longer live in the limbo of not having been mated and claimed. He wants to be able to go out, to go riding, reclaim some of the things that he has lost in having been sold in marriage. In the past months, he has been too afraid to even leave the room. Fearful that someone would find out that they had not fulfilled the marriage contract. To give Rogers any reason to move against his family again.

He shivers in the cool hallway and Steve moves closer by a fraction as if looking to comfort him, but stops just short of touching.

“We should do it today.”

It’s all he can say and Steve nods, mouth twisting unhappily.

Their room is still in darkness, the wane, early dawn light not enough to push through the tapestries covering the windows.

Steve strips. Revealing miles and miles of golden skin stretched over defined muscles. He is perfect, wide shoulders and tapered waist. Bucky feels another flush of shame at his own mangled and defective body. He hesitates, the hem of his shirt grasped in his hands.

Steve seems to sense his mood and reaches out, eyes worried.

“Hey, hey, just keep the shirt on if you feel more comfortable.”

Steve’s big hands rubbing gently over his closed fists. His eyes are big, wondrous and cornflower blue. His Alpha smell protective and aroused. It tempts Bucky, the mixture of power and caution.

Steve moves around the bed, releasing the drapes secured around the four posters, creating a dark, den-like space for them. With the blankets and cushions from the cell scattered on top, it even smells like Bucky’s heat den. It makes him feel better, the tension around his shoulders releasing a fraction. Steve kneels on the bed, fussing and arranging the pillows and the throws, constantly glancing back at Bucky for approval. Bucky has read of this before, an ancient custom where Alphas would build dens to attract an Omega mate, showing how they could take care and protect.

Bucky watches the play of muscles on Steve’s thighs and stomach. Steve’s cock is huge, dusky pink and straining against his belly, dragging a trail of wetness against his skin. Bucky wonders what he tastes like, the heavy weight of it on his tongue. He wonders if Steve would lay down and let Bucky explore him with his hands and mouth. If an Alpha would allow him that much control.

He joins Steve in the shadows of the bed, allowing Steve to pull him in, mirroring the position they had in the den. Steve’s hands around his back, nose firmly wedged against his neck. Fall apples and elderflower in his nose, his mind playing tricks, trying to make this easier. Steve sighs against him, and it fills Bucky with wonder on how gentle and kind his touch is. The big hands that could easily restrain and hold him down, pet and stroke, stopping once in awhile for a gentle squeeze. They run down his back, dipping in under the linen and sweeping over his skin, fingers counting the knobs of his spine.

Bucky spreads his legs in a clear invitation as soon as one of the hands strays too close to his tailbone. He can feel the slick, sliding down his skin, over his balls, at the motion. Steve’s fingers are gentle and curious, rubbing his tailbone before sliding down. As soon as they circle his hole Bucky tenses. He tries not to, tries to stay pliant, a good Omega, but Steve feels it, his fingers retreating. It distresses Bucky more than it should.

“No, no, it’s alright, just go back.”

Hushed words against Steve’s neck, canting his hips up, spreading his legs more. Steve just shushes him, hands big and gentle on his lower back, cupping the swell of his rump. His mouth closes over the glands on Bucky’s neck again, licking and sucking, which makes Bucky arch and rub his cock against Steve’s belly, fireworks down his spine.

Steve palms his sides, Bucky’s hip bones fitting snugly in his palms, thumbs stroking the soft hairs nestled around his cock, touch teasing, and light. Words warm against Bucky’s ear:

“Turn around, onto your stomach.”

A flash of hesitation, uncertainty flushes through him, but Steve waits patiently, fingers rubbing closer and closer to the base of his cock. It strains to him, the head leaking, red and angry.

Steve’s hands are steady on his hip, guiding as he rolls over. He lifts Bucky up onto his knees, his hips in the air as Steve shoves a few cushions under him, propping Bucky up. It’s a bit like presenting but less strain on his back and for that Bucky is grateful. Steve’s big hands rub down his legs, thumbs on the inside of his thighs, gently coaxing him to spread open further. The position is profoundly vulnerable and Bucky is glad his face is pressed into the bed, that they are in the semi-darkness created by the curtains.

The heat flush is still running though him, his body pushing out slick in response to his position, preparing itself not matter how tightly Bucky is wound. He wants Steve to be quick, to push in and get it over with. His skin feels too tight for his body, his belly hot and aching and cock fat and leaking from Steve’s scent.

Steve’s thumbs slide into the valley of his arse, spreading him open. Bucky’s entire body clenches tight, and then there is a huff of warm breath against the cleft and the flat, wet stripe of Steve’s tongue. Bucky keens into the mattress, he can’t help the sound. Steve’s words are warm against his slick hole:

“Please tell me if you want me to stop, or if you don’t like something.”

His lips close around the tender bud of skin, tongue teasing the rim, not pushing in yet, just gentle teasing, flicks. Steve’s thumbs rub the muscles of his ass and thighs as his tongue moves over the sensitive patch of skin behind his balls, and back up to his hole. It’s intimate and terrifying and part of Bucky wants him to stop and just fuck without preamble, but another part wants to curl his toes and push his arse into Steve’s face and never, ever let this stop.

Steve’s fingers join in, gently teasing Bucky’s rim, just a tip of a finger slipping in and gently pulling on the puckered skin. Bucky is sobbing, hands fisted in the sheets, hips pushing back, chasing Steve’s tongue. A litany of _please please please_ out of his mouth. Steve runs his thumbs around the hole, easing the glands while he laps at the slick pouring out of him.

A gentle finger pushes inside and it feels so good, the knuckle being pushed past the tight ring. The finger curves and Bucky wails, his knees pulling against his sides, trying to spread himself wider.

“There you are.”

Steve’s voice is tender, his other hand gentling over Bucky’s flank under his shirt. He curves the finger again, rubbing something deep inside Bucky that makes his cock ache and the base of his spine flare with fire.

“Steve, Steve, oh god, please.”

“Shh, it’s alright. I’ve got you.”

He eases his other hand between Bucky’s body and the pillows, palming the weeping head of Bucky’s cock. His mouth joins his fingers, lapping where they disappear into Bucky’s body. He is caught between trying to fuck into Steve’s palm or chasing the fingers inside him. Bucky comes, crying and gasping for breath, Steve’s fingers deep inside him and wrapped around the head of his cock.

The fingers withdraw but Steve’s tongue is back, drawing gentle stripes over his slack, oversensitive hole, kissing up his tailbone and lower spine.

Bucky feels boneless, cleaved open, face pressed into the sheets. Steve rolls him on to his side, pulling Bucky against his chest, the fat drag of his cock between Bucky’s slick ass cheeks. His hand wraps around Bucky’s leg, lifting it against Bucky’s chest, leaving him open and vulnerable.

He tries to cant and angle his hips, seeking the drag of a cockhead against his hole, a sensation Bucky did not even know he could want. Steve hums at his eagerness, palm sliding over the sweaty skin of Bucky’s belly. Bucky can feel Steve shifting, the press of his chest against his back, his arms lifting Bucky higher. The blunt tip of Steve’s cock slides in, easy and slick and Bucky moans at the sensation.

“You alright?”

Steve’s low Alpha rumble against his ear. Bucky is not sure if he makes a human noise, the drag of Steve’s cock in his hole and the steady press of his big palm against Bucky’s belly distract him too much. Steve chuckles, gentle and kind, and pushes in deeper and deeper until Bucky can feel Steve’s hips flush against the skin of his arse.

The feeling is unlike anything, being held, being grounded in Steve’s body, finally letting his body satisfy all its Omega cravings.

Steve fucks into him steady and slow, his cock hitting that place inside, making Bucky see stars and his spent cock twitching, already half-hard, the sensitive cockhead still leaking. Steve’s knot pushes against his hole on each thrust, teasing the slick rim, pressing on the sensitive nerves and forcing him open bit by bit. Bucky moans, trying to spread himself wider, his leg bracing against Steve’s bicep.

The fabric of his shirt is bunched between their bodies, the collar pulled back. Steve is mouthing the skin at the-the top of his spine, a hint of teeth and even this far gone Bucky knows what it means. Maybe Steve’s way of asking permission, bumbling, and kind. Bucky tips his face forward, exposing more of his neck, a silent consent.

The rhythm of their bodies becomes more erratic, Steve’s arm urging his leg higher and wider. He’s moaning against the back of Bucky’s neck, teeth and tongue laving the skin. Suddenly Steve’s teeth sink into the skin as the knot pushes into him, both burning him like a brand, a shock down his spine, connecting him and Steve, mouth, cock and ass and spine, like Ouroboros eating its own tail.

Bucky wails and keens, the sounds out of his mouth pulled from somewhere deep and secret. He comes again, clenching down Steve’s knot, cock shooting over his belly and Steve’s hands, his eyes seeing only darkness and pinpricks of light, floating like fireflies.

Steve is licking the bite mark, mouthing and sucking, his knot pulsing and trembling inside Bucky’s body, grunting as he finally empties himself, the knot locking in place. Hazily Bucky thinks that he can feel trickle of blood down his back from the bite, Steve’s teeth still clasped tight to his skin.

Bucky’s hole and neck ache. The unfamiliar pressure from the knot and the fresh bond mark, making him uncomfortable and twitchy. He tries to move, to twist away, the intimacy of their position too much to bear. Steve growls a warning and it makes him panic even more. Bucky tries to pull away, a sharp pain flaring in his hole as the knot pulls against the tender skin.

Steve’s arms come around him suddenly, big hands spreading over his belly and chest rubbing his skin though the linen, trying to comfort.

“Hey, hey, shh. Easy.”

Bucky gasps, sobs. He is crying, tears running down his cheeks. A sudden flood of emotion knocked free.

“Please. Please.”

He isn’t sure what he is asking for. _Please let me go. Please hold me. Please don’t let me fall_.

Steve reaches out and pulls the heat scented blankets around them, wrapping Bucky in his own safe, scent. Steve rocks him, keeping his hips tightly pressed to Bucky’s as he starts to slowly get used to the feel of the knot, the heavy weight, and drag of it. Steve is mouthing _I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry_ over and over against the bond mark as if willing it to sink into Bucky’s skin with his mark.

It takes an age for the knot to go down, but Steve pulls out of him as soon as he is able.

Bucky sneaks his own fingers between his cheeks. His hole is swollen and tender, slick and semen leaking out and covering his fingers.

“Are you alright?”

Steve’s voice is worried, his hands still on Bucky’s sides, gentle warmth over his ribs. Bucky nods in the darkness, his fingers still gently rubbing over his entrance.

“Just tender.”

He curls into the sheets and blankets, his body having burned through his heat, as Steve leaves the bed for a washcloth. The exhaustion is all consuming and before he drifts off he can feel Steve cleaning him up and curling around him protectively. His gentle Alpha smell now stronger, almost familiar.

Bucky wakes up alone, he is not sure how long has passed but the light of the weak winter sun is filling the room.

He feels sore, his body unused to sex and the bond mark still smarts at the back of his neck. He rubs his fingers over it, trying to ease the strange sensation.

Suddenly Steve is by the bed, dressed only in a linen shirt, holding a tray filled with pastries and honey bread, water and dried figs.

“Hey, you’re awake.”

He looks dopey and Bucky can’t help the little smile that escapes him.

Steve sets the tray in front of him, like an offering and slides back into the bed, pulling Bucky to sit against his chest while they eat. Bucky lets his body be comforted by Steve’s closeness and the protective Alpha scent. His body begins to hurt less as Steve’s fingers gently move over his back and sides, feeding him figs dipped in honey.

Over the following weeks Bucky realizes how much the bonding had helped. It allows Bucky more freedom, gives him a legitimate standing in the castle. He does not need to worry someone finding out that Steve had not claimed him. He is able to go to the library, get his own books, able to eat in the great hall with everyone. Even go on short rides around the town, trying to learn more of his new home.

Not long after the night of the bonding Steve brings an old woman to their rooms. She is hunched and weathered, face lined with deep grooves, but her eyes are kind.

“This is Nany. She is a healer.”

Bucky looks at them both, silently assessing. The woman is calm under his gaze, almost placid, but Steve fidgets, twisting his fingers.

“Uh.. for your shoulder. They told us”

Bucky stiffens, he wonders who the anonymous _they_ are. He wonders what had been written in the offer letters to Steve’s family about him, about his deformity. The woman tilts her head to the side, assessing, and for an uncomfortable moment, Bucky feels as if she is peering right into his head.

“Steven, please leave us now. I must speak with James privately before we begin treatment.”

Steve startles at the command. Despite the woman’s soft voice, it is clearly not a request and brooks no argument. Steve gives him a final nervous look before leaving them alone.

“Your young man is very kind, but I feel that maybe it is better if we do this part just the two of us.”

 _Bucky’s young man_. It’s such a strange turn of phrase to use on an Alpha, but her face remains serene, maybe a bit playful and Bucky nods, not entirely sure why he is agreeing. No one has looked at the shoulder after the initial surgery. Bucky hadn’t let anyone near him and Becca had respected and enforced, his wishes.

Bucky strips. First his coat, then vest and finally his thick linen shirt, the last of his armour.

She makes no comment and nothing changes in her placid expression as she watches the ravaged landscape of his chest and left shoulder. She walks around him and hums, her hands clasped behind her back.

She motions to a low stool in front of the fireplace.

“Please sit.”

Bucky obeys, lowering himself until his shoulder is easily within reach of her hands. The healer opens her knapsack, pulling out a few select bottles.

“I will start with the oil. We need to stretch out the scars, get more give to the new skin, it will give you a better range of motion and will help with the back pain.”

She moves behind him as she speaks, laying a warm palm over the puckered skin by his shoulder blade. Bucky can feel pressure but most of the nerves had been too damaged and her touch feels distant.

“How did you…?”

She harrumphs.

“Know that you have back pain? It’s obvious to anyone with a half a brain from the way you hold yourself.”

Her fingers brush against the bond mark and Bucky jerks. The skin is still itchy, an alien feel to it.

“It’s healed well enough. Later on, I will get him to help.”

She’s speaking to herself and doesn’t seem to expect an answer, so Bucky remains silent.

Her hands are sure as they work over his scarred skin, the oil easing their passage. The scars are stiff and unyielding. Bucky is surprised that her touch doesn’t cause pain, having been so used to causing himself agony by a touch of mere few fingers. The healer seems to instinctively know where the raw nerves are and her hands avoid them, moving around them like water by a stone.

Part of Bucky wants this to hurt, wants it to be unpleasant just so that he has an excuse to tell Steve that the healer cannot come back.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

He voice is quiet, almost a whisper and it startles Bucky.

“Don’t think that you are the first who punishes themselves through their own injury. Who refuses to let themselves heal because of fear.”

“I don’t...”

She lays her palms over the ball of his shoulder, not moving or pushing, just keeping her warm hands over the damaged skin.

“You can lie to yourself, but please do not lie to me. It is not conducive to my work.”

Bucky nods, swallowing through the catch in his throat.

The healer comes once a week. Slowly working up from oiling the skin, to working on his muscles beneath and then getting him to start stretching his range of motion. It doesn’t improve the appearance, but makes the ache in his back ease, and slowly, so slowly, the constant pain inside the ball of his shoulder eases as the months turn from bitter winter into early spring.

The spring brings light and air into their rooms and on some nights they keep the drapes of the bed tied and the tapestries away from the windows, letting the air in.

Steve never asks about the sessions nor asks for Bucky to remove his shirt in bed, he just works around the fabric. He is a creative lover, gentle and interested in Bucky’s pleasure. They spend days and nights trying to learn each other, fit around each other’s needs. To see how quickly Bucky comes with Steve’s fingers buried inside him and Steve’s lips wrapped around the head of his cock. The way Steve blushes down to his navel when Bucky rides him with the daylight exposing their bodies. Both of them still crave wrapping up in blankets and sheets so closely that nothing else exists in the world bar each other and the pleasure humming between them.

Steve won’t knot him anymore, always leaving the knot pressed against the outside of Bucky’s hole, wrapping his palm around it instead. Squeezing and pressing as he comes. The first time had been overwhelming and frightening, but Bucky still dreams of the feeling, of being connected and claimed. Bucky doesn’t know how to ask for it, he isn’t even sure if he wants the feeling again.

Steve still asks him to talk about his books, but now they lay with their bodies entwined as Bucky paints pictures of fantastical places into Steve’s skin. It feels like a sort of healing, mending of the tears in his soul that even the healer can never reach.

The room is still in darkness when he suddenly wakes, Steve’s quiet snores in his ear. Bucky is not sure what startled him, a nightmare perhaps. He lies still, listening. Something moving in the darkness of the room. Steve had released the drapes of the bed the previous evening, both of them craving a small, dark space to curl up in.

It’s so easy for his hand to slide in between the mattress and the bed frame, the familiar grip of the dagger against his palm. A tiny piece of home, a protection left behind by Becca. Bucky slides the blade to his side, the metal cool against his skin, still listening for the body moving silently through the darkness. This was always his speciality; close quarters, secrets kept in the dark. He is an excellent archer, one of the best, but hiding in the dark, waiting for a mark, in this he is without equal.

Bucky springs out from between the gap in the curtains of the bed, his body slamming hard into another. The scent of acid and steel fills his nostrils. He sinks his dagger into something fleshy and hard and a fist connects with his side, hard and unforgiving, knocking him sideways.

“You Omega bitch!”

Rumlow’s voice is ugly, strained and filled with pain. Bucky smiles in the darkness. He wonders if Rumlow doesn’t realise that his words are telegraphing his position.

“You know, if you’d just been a good Omega and stayed out of it, I would have looked after you.”

Bucky can now see him now in the glow of the embers of the fireplace. His shoulder bleeding where Bucky’s dagger had found its mark. Rumlow spits lip curling into a sneer.

“Now, I’m going to give you to the boys to play with.”

Bucky springs again, tackling low and hard. Rumlow has an advantage of superior weight but Bucky is better at grappling, at dirty fighting on the ground, where Alphas rarely excel. Rumlow's fist bashes into the side of his face, pain exploding through Bucky’s head, but he pushes forward, his blade nicking the side of Rumlow’s face.

Suddenly Steve is there, his huge fist sinking into Rumlow’s stomach. He seems still dazed from sleep, naked as the day he was born. Rumlow uses this, rolling away from under Steve’s hand into a crouch. Before he can attack Bucky leaps on his shoulders, his dagger sinking into Rumlow’s side. Blood sprouts over his hand, wet and warm. Bucky twists the blade and Rumlow screams.

Steve’s hands come around Rumlow’s throat squeezing as he punches Rumlow square in the face. He crumples on the floor, blood starting to pool on the flagstones.

Bucky’s breath is painful in his chest, his face throbbing.

Suddenly the door flies off its hinges and Dum-Dum is in the room holding his sword and a lantern.

“We’re under attack, Captain!”

This seems to finally release Steve from the dredges of sleep. He shakes himself.

“What’s happened?”

Dum-Dum kicks the man lying prone on the floor, artfully avoiding the pool of blood.

“Rumlow’s guards have tried to take over the castle. Some kind of ambush.”

Steve whips around, voice strained as he begins to pull on clothing, collect his sword.

“My mother! My father!”

“Gabe is with her, she is safe. I have not heard from your father yet.”

Steve is as white as a sheet, his breath short and shallow. He grabs Bucky, his hands hard and forceful on Bucky’s arms, more commanding than he has ever been before.

“Stay here. Bar the door.”

It’s an order from his Alpha and Bucky moves to obey. It’s not until Steve is out of the room that he is able to shake off the need to please, and dress himself, grab his daggers.

Before leaving, Bucky lifts up Rumlow’s head and slices his throat. Blood spills on the floor sluggishly.

He leaves the tower and moves through the familiar dark hallways with ease, hiding in the shadows. He dispatches two of Rumlow’s men by the courtyard. A throat slit and a belly cut open, entrails spreading over the ground.

Bucky finds Denier near the stables, who takes one look at Bucky’s daggers and hands steeped in blood and motions him to come along. Bucky likes Denier. Out of all Steve’s men, he seems to have the least amount of judgement for Bucky. He just looks and accepts. His Beta smell is calm, steady.

They make their way to the gates, a small group of black-clad guards waiting to lift the portcullis. They split the group and dispatch them, and after Denier looks at him with approval in his eyes. Bucky wipes the blood from his blade on the side of his leg and gives the other man a salute. They move further into the keep, to a part of the castle Bucky has never been to before.

He soon realises that this is Steve’s father’s tower, the halls filled with guards. They let Denier pass, and Bucky along with him. The door at the end of the hallway is open, early dawn light and candlelight spilling out, creating play of shadows on the wall.

Joseph Rogers’ body is still in his bed, right on the edge of the mattress as if he was reaching for his sword but moved too late. His throat is cut, the spray of arterial blood soaked into the linen and the floor.

Steve stands on the end of the bed, his face like stone, guards and the Howlies flanking him. They all turn as Denier and Bucky enter, and Steve’s face takes an even more ashen tone.

“What are you doing here?”

His voice is cold, toneless.

“Go back to the tower, it’s not safe here.”

In an instant Bucky is reminded of his place, and he nods, subservient and eyes cast down. All the men are looking at him, he can feel their gazes moving over his body. Denier tries to say something but he is silenced by Steve’s icy glare.

Bucky leaves, but he doesn’t go back to the room. Instead, he descends deep into the center of the castle to the bath houses. The family bathing room is always kept warm, the fires burning and Bucky now has access to it. He nods to the keeper and asks for privacy. The commotion of the attack not having reached this far.

Mechanically Bucky strips, the blood caked on his hands and face where he touched his cheek with the back of his hand.

The water in the pool is warm, steam rising in the air around Bucky’s body as he wades in.

This used to be their ritual. His and Becca’s. They would go to the family bathing rooms after each fight and skirmish, to the giant copper tubs separate by a white linen curtain, and in the candlelight soak the blood from their bodies, compare their injuries, and count their kills.

He dips his daggers into the bath, the blood dissolving into the water around him. The blades gleam in the light, ethereal and not quite real under the surface.

 _Nothing but the best for the Winter Soldier_.

Her ghost is in the air, the echo of her voice in his mind. That is what she used to call him. _Winter Soldier_. It hid him as much as the mask covering his face, as much as the black uniform and Becca’s scent.

Bucky knows now that this part of him is not wanted here. No matter if he had saved Steve’s life today, he is not wanted. He knows, has always known, what an Omega is for, but for a brief time he had begun to wonder if Steve would like to see more of him. If the things hidden in his soul, etched into his body, would, after all, have some value.

Bucky realizes now how wrong he had been.

He had been blinded by stories told in the dark, the gentle hands that seemed to treat him as more than just a body. Steve wants him in the tower, in the bed, available and uncomplicated, the mask he had presented for Steve all these months. To Steve he will always be an Omega and nothing in the world can change that.

Bucky dries and dresses, steam curling seductively around him, almost a physical memory, but he can’t indulge anymore. He has to close off this part of himself, his fate had been sealed all those months ago and there is no going back. The mark of it itching at the top of his spine.

Denier finds him not too far from the bath houses and motions him to come.

The library is lit up the way he has never seen before, torches, candles, and oil lamps. All of Steve’s Howlies are there as well as a group of older men Bucky doesn’t recognize. Steve is at the center. His face ashen and jaw locked, angry twist to his lips.

Falsworth is speaking, and Bucky realizes that it has been weeks since he saw the man.

“It’s an army, an organized one. More than three thousand men. I tracked them for 2 weeks on their march. The leader calls himself the Red Skull. He is a southern warlord who has spent the past four years trying to unite the scattered tribes of the south. It looks like he has finally succeeded.”

Dum-Dum nods:

“It appears that Rumlow had been placed here to take out the family, to make our army leaderless and defenceless. They have been planning this for years.”

The grim faces around the table tell a tale of the desperation of their situation. One of the old men closes his eyes as if just having woken to a horrid realization.

“They are coming for the mines and for the City. Our forces are no match for them, we don’t have enough time to even gather our army, not to mention train new troops to oppose them.”

“What about aid? Who can we call?”

Steve’s gaze is pleading and the men around the table quiet, their eyes lowered. The same advisor speaks again, bleak and not meeting Steve’s eye.

“The Potts have the largest standing army, but I am not sure if they would come to our aid after...”

A silence hangs in the air, uncomfortable and stifling, the advisers shuffling amongst themselves. Trying to ascertain blame, Bucky assumes. Steve’s voice is like ice:

“After what?”

It’s another adviser who speaks, a younger man with a straight spine and a narrow face.

“When your father was planning your marriage he… He crossed the Potts over the Stark Omega, tried to cut them off and bribe the Starks outside of customary bonding negotiations. It’s unlikely that they would aid us now.”

Bucky tenses. To bribe a family who has entered bonding negotiations through a matchmaker is a grave accusation. He remembers his father’s glee at Rogers being rejected by the Starks and wonders now if his father knew if he used it to his advantage to arrange the match for Bucky.

He thinks of the burned-out villages and the hopelessness on Becca’s face when she returned over and over again with news of more losses.

No one would come to Rogers’ aid if Steve called them.

“They would come for me. Virginia would come for Becca.”

Bucky is not sure if the men around the table even realized that he is there, their faces startled and angry as he speaks.

“What are you talking about boy?”

Steve cuts him off with an angry stare.

“My sister and Virginia are friends, allies. The Potts will come to your aid if Becca asks them to.”

The old men look at one another. Bucky knows what is in their thoughts. The memory of Rogers forcing his sister and father to leave even before the wedding feast was over. The way they were driven out, the way Bucky was bought and sold like property, the way blood gleamed on Becca’s fists on the day of the Tourney.

“Will she come?”

It is Steve who asks, his voice strangely young and unsure.

“She will always come if I ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has commented and given kudos.
> 
> I had a huge crisis of faith with the fic this week (you know, everything I write is crap, blah blah, I'm a terrible writer, blah blah, I should just give up now, blah blah) so I kept rereading all the comments and it really helped :)


	7. VI. Steve

_Will you still love me  
When I'm no longer young and beautiful?_

The sanctum is cool and dark, the domed windows covered for the lying in state. The long line of mourners had walked through the chantry and the sanctum to pay their respects to his father throughout the day. Now the hall is empty and quiet. The only sound in the air is Steve’s breathing. In and out. Slow and steady.

He had sent his mother back into her rooms an hour ago. She needed to rest for the funeral rites tomorrow.

Not so long ago, he would have lost his mother tomorrow as well. It had been the custom, if an Omega outlived their Alpha, for the Omega to take a place on the funeral pyre next to their mate and burn. They would not have been able to bond with a new mate and had thus outlived their usefulness.

He wonders if his anger towards his father would be greater if this was still the case.

Steve hates himself for his anger, the unfulfilled fight in him that was never resolved. It gives no space for his grief, leaving him hollow and twisted. He wants to shake the empty corpse in front of him, say all the things that he had kept in while his father was still here while Steve thought that he still had all the time in the world.

Denier had left for Barnes castle not two days ago, with a sealed letter from Bucky, carrying with him all their hopes for salvation.

The anger flares again, quick and bright in the cloistered dark. How dare his father not be here to see what his greed and scheming has caused. The desperation he had driven his people, his family to, how much of his realm he had risked.

Bucky had stood beside him as the mourners had come, a warm, silent presence on his left. Someone for Steve to lean on the same way his mother had leaned onto him on his right. He had wanted to curl into Bucky, bury himself so deep in his body that Steve no longer knew where he ended and Bucky began. To stay forever in the dark nest of their bed, protected and far away from everything happening around him. Loose himself in the fables, the yarns Bucky had been spinning.

He thinks of those stories now, from years ago and from only a few days past, told in the tree or in the quiet dark of their rooms. The hope and longing Bucky is always able to weave into his voice, a prisoner looking out into the world through a narrowed window.

With every story Steve had told himself _tomorrow_. Tomorrow I will take him to the tree. But with every sunrise the familiar fear reared its head. Fear that not only did Bucky not remember him, but that summer had meant nothing to him, that Steve had just been another playmate among many.

And now it felt too late. Their home, their rooms once again marred by death and distance.

He leaves the sanctum, the cool air of the pre-dawn a balm on his face. There is a smell, a hint of summer in the air, a promise of things to come.

 _In the summer then_ Steve vows to himself, when the flowers will be in bloom and fireflies in the air he will take Bucky to the tree. He would kneel in front of him in among the meadowsweet and sweet pea and ask Bucky to be his. Would ask Bucky to marry him, to spend the rest of their lives together, in the way he had not been able to do before. He will show Bucky everything, give him everything.

Back in their room Steve curls around his mate for a few blessed hours of sleep before sunrise pulls him up for another day.

The pyre is built outside the city walls, on top of one of the low hills. As the sun begins to set his father’s body is brought out of the chantry, carried to his final resting place.

Steve and his mother stand at the foot of the pyre. Bucky and the Howlies a respectful distance behind. Steve would wish them closer, surrounding him, protecting him from this moment. Finally, the cleric who married Steve not six months ago walks up the winding path, a torch held aloft.

The fire catches quickly, spreading through the dry wood, crackling and spitting as it spreads.

Steve holds onto his mother’s shoulders as the flames reach towards the night sky. For a moment he feels her tense, pulling against his palms as if she was preparing to rush forward. Steve closes his eyes and holds her tighter, almost bruising, wanting to remind her that there are still people left who need her.

Denier returns a day after the funeral with a return letter addressed to Bucky. It contains only one word.

 _Yes_.

It takes six days, before a runner comes to the castle, heralding the arrival of the troops.

The banners of Barnes, Potts and Stark catch and flick in the wind as the host approaches the gates. Bucky is standing beside him, nearly vibrating. Steve can see his eyes following the white-clad flag carrier, the colours of Barnes flying above her head.

The portcullis is lifted as the two horses part from the crowd, shields and capes shining brightly in the afternoon light.

Steve is not even quite sure why he reaches out, trying to stop Bucky from rushing down the stairs and out into the courtyard. His reached out arm might as well not have been there, as much as it hinders Bucky.

Steve watches from his high vantage point as he and Rebecca rush towards one another, their bodies smashing together as if pulled by some invisible, unstoppable force.

Jealousy is not quite a correct word, maybe envy. He has been inside Bucky’s body, but it seems like a poor imitation compared to the way he opens himself to his sister’s embrace and holds her in return. Steve knows that he cannot compete with a shared childhood, with the bond of blood, but the possessive Alpha in him wants to try.

They take turns to lift each other off the ground, faces split into smiles measured in miles.

Virginia Potts, still mounted on her horse smiles at them indulgently. She is slim, even dainty with light red hair. Steve would never think to look at her that she is an Alpha, but he has heard the stories and would not particularly like to test his strength against her.

She finally dismounts, still smiling, clearly making some kind of a cheeky comment and both Bucky and Rebecca laugh, their arms still around each other’s shoulders.

It’s the longest Steve has seen Bucky touch anyone, bar himself, voluntarily.

He turns on the parapet, angry without even truly knowing why, asking Dum-Dum to invite the Commanders to the library for the council of war.

The wait feels longer than it actual is, the quiet library amplifying his anxiety and shame. His sense of inadequacy. Having to ask for help from people whom his family has wronged. And worse of all, they have come with an army, to defend a city which does not deserve their sacrifice.

He is jolted out of his thoughts as Virginia Potts walks into the room, all elegant and enigmatic smiles towards Steve, followed by Tony Stark whom Steve had not been expecting.

The Omega gives him an appraising stare, his head cocked to the side.

“Well, at least daddy dearest got the blond part right.”

“Tony!”

Virginia smacks his side disapprovingly, but there is a hint of a smile in her voice. Tony, in turn, rounds on her, arms wide and face innocent.

“Pepper pot, if you hadn’t swooped to my rescue, I would have been bouncing on that man-castle for months now. So, just pointing out, that, at least he is blond.”

He turns back to Steve, shrugging.

“Not my type otherwise. Sorry Blondie.”

Virginia pushes him to sit down by the table, her hand on his shoulder. Surprisingly Tony follows her lead, seating himself primly.

“You must excuse Tony. He was brought up in a barn.”

“Smithy!”

Virginia shoots him a glare.

“An actual barn. I’ve had the misfortune of seeing it.”

“Pepper. Honey bun. You love my workshop!”

The door creaks as Rebecca and Bucky enter, still jostling each other as they walk to the table and Tony leaps to stand again.

“Rebecca! A friend of my Lady Alpha. I have brought you new armour. Lighter, better, more durable. I have made them only for you two, my two favourite Lady Alphas.”

She looks at him unimpressed.

“We are the only Lady Alphas.”

Unperturbed Tony carries on:

“Which makes this even more special! Special armour for my special ladies!”

Rebecca leans on the back of Virginia’s chair, her arms folded over the back rest.

“Did I miss something, Virginia? Are we actually going to be sharing Tony here?”

Tony wiggles his eyebrows at the two Alphas.

“Oh, you sassy, Barnes. You’d be lucky to tap this arse.”

Virginia gives Rebecca a long-suffering look, but Rebecca only sasses back.

“In your dreams, Tony. Only in your dreams.”

Their familiarity with each other grates Steve. He had never attended any of the Spring Flings, escaping the pressures of the heir Alpha to the south with the Howlies as soon as he was able.

Marriage and family had never appealed to him, his own feeling towards his cloistered and claustrophobic childhood pushing him to distance himself from the usual games of the young nobility.

Bucky has been equally silent, and Steve realizes that the teasing familiarity between his sister, Virginia and Tony must be new for him too. He would have never been to the Spring Flings either, hidden away in Barnes castle. But He looks more accepting of the trio than Steve feels, his face relaxed and at ease.

There is still so much that he does not know of his mate. Steve would have never been able to predict the desperation he feels in wanting to truly know Bucky, to see beyond the surface gloss and mask of indifference he puts on. To truly know and possess his mate in all possible ways, not just the physical.

All his life he had been told that once he was a mated to an Omega they would be his body and soul, would belong to him and no one else. But Bucky is not his, he may have bonded with Steve, but he still keeps a part of himself locked away, a wall of steel and stone where Steve can’t enter. He feels bitter at the lies he has believed, and then horrifically ashamed that he would want to possess anyone like that.

Rebecca spreads out the maps on the table, pulling Steve from his thoughts.

They discuss the coming assault, draw battle plans, review the spy reports from Falsworth. Steve begins to appreciate the military experience of Rebecca and Virginia, who have both led large-scale assaults before, and Rebecca who has held out against a raiding force from the south before.

They don’t talk about it by name, but the tense looks passing between Bucky and his sister tell Steve all he has to know where that experience comes from and the price they both paid for it.

The plan is simple. They have no time or enough troops for any complex military manoeuvres, nor is Their enemy interested in negotiating terms of engagement.

Bucky is the first to leave late into the evening, claiming tiredness. He touches Rebecca’s shoulder as he passes, just a brief touch but it makes warmth bloom on her face like Steve has never seen before.

Virginia and Tony retire to the South tower where they have been provided with a room not long after. Tony’s excitable chatter disappearing down the hall as they go.

Rebecca is the last to leave, and Steve follows her, down the dark hallway, catching up with her in the lit up courtyard.

“Commander Barnes. Please wait.”

“What is it, Captain?”

She’s terse and unfriendly, the earlier warmth completely gone. Steve perseveres, he needs to say this. Needs to try and explain, make her see that is not a monster who has taken her brother away from her.

“I wanted to apologise. For my family. For my father. For asking you to leave after the ceremony.”

She sighs, her shoulder slumping and for a brief moment, Steve can see the weight of responsibility weighing her down. He knows the look intimately, the same weight pressing down on his own body. But she straightens, pulling herself together in a flash and the vulnerability is gone.

“If that is what you are choosing to apologise for, it’s not me you owe it to.”

His breath stutters. The apology has been on his tongue thousand times, but he has never been able to voice it.

“I know.”

Her eyes are still cold, hard and flat. So like Bucky’s in the beginning.

“He deserved so much more.”

“I know that too.”

She is silent for a long time, the night wrapping around them, the weight of the battle to come. Steve thinks she is going to leave until she speaks:

“Then be worthy of his sacrifice.”

She gives him one final pained glance and turns around, disappearing into the dark.

Bucky is already in the room when Steve arrives, at his usual place by the window. The field in front of the keep is now filled with firelight. Tents and horses and men, the faint sounds of living reaching up even to the tower. Bucky turns to him, leaning against the sill, as Steve removes his coat.

“Tomorrow then. All our fates will be decided.”

There is wistfulness in his voice, the kind of longing Steve has never heard, even within any of the stories. It hurts his heart, an icy fear through his stomach. He moves to his mate, watching the circles of fire in the night. His thoughts with the men who will be risking all tomorrow.

“I need you to stay here.”

Bucky seems started at his request, _command_ , and Steve tries to soften his voice:

“I need you to be safe. To go out there I need to know that you are safe.”

Bucky looks past him, face shuttered.

“I know.”

Steve holds his shoulders, forehead resting against Bucky’s. It’s the closest they have come to kissing. Bucky’s lips are still full and pink, exactly the way he remembers, but Bucky slides out from the circle of his arms, eyes dark, unreadable.

He pulls silks from the drawer, leftovers from the wedding and starts to undress Steve. Vest, shirt, breeches. His hands are firm, almost commanding and Steve lets Bucky push him into the bed. The air is charged, the atmosphere changed in a flash. He takes Steve’s wrists, one by one and binds them. The silk is loose enough for him to easily escape, but still firm in order to remind Steve that this is how Bucky wants him.

He undresses too, stormy blue eyes fixed on Steve, on his impatient body and leaking cock. Bucky still leaves his shirt on as always, a barrier between them.

Steve tries to breathe as Bucky crawls over him, hands travelling up his thighs, stomach, and his chest, blunt fingernails scraping over his nipples, making the flesh peak and ache. Bucky lowers his head, letting his teeth catch the pucker of Steve’s nipple, gently biting down. Steve arches into the sensation, too lusty and wanton to care.

Bucky’s teeth and tongue move down his body, lavishing attention to his abs and the bony jut of his hips. Lips finally closing over the weeping head of his cock, sucking it against the roof of his mouth. Steve keens, his feet spasming against the covers as Bucky wrap his fingers around the half-formed knot at the base, his thumb teasing the sensitive flesh.

Then his fingers move, pushing behind Steve’s balls, tips pressing and rubbing, making Steve see stars behind his closed eyelids.

Suddenly Bucky’s spit-slick fingers circle around his arsehole. Steve’s eyes snap open, hazy and disoriented in the dark of the bed.

“Uh… what are you?”

Bucky just hums around his cock, his lips stretching to take him further, swallowing Steve down his throat. He shoulders Steve’s legs further apart, pressing them higher and wider. Steve tries to swallow down the feelings of vulnerability as the motion makes his ass cheeks spread open for Bucky’s curious fingers. Part of him wants to close his legs and push Bucky away, but he has had Bucky laid in this exact position so many times that he can’t. He breathes shallow, almost as if he was still a slip of nothing boy with bad lungs.

Steve can see Bucky stretching back, running his fingers into the valley of his own arse, twisting and shoving with his hand. Then his fingers are back on Steve’s hole, slippery with Bucky’s own slick. The thought makes his cock ache inside Bucky’s mouth.

It’s just a tip of a finger first and the intrusion feels strange, making Steve’s toes curl against Bucky’s linen-clad shoulders. Bucky hums again in approval and pushes further, twisting so the first knuckle pops past the tight ring. Steve swallows convulsively, his ass spasming around Bucky’s finger.

Bucky releases his cock from his mouth with a wet, indecent pop, moving down to nose and lick Steve’s balls. Bucky curls his finger, and suddenly the base of his cock is on fire, the tip leaking, mixing with Bucky’s leftover saliva. Bucky laughs, not unkindly.

“I did wonder if Alphas have this.”

He curls his finger again and Steve moans, his fists opening and closing fitfully in the bonds.

There are two fingers in him now, the stretch of them stings, not unpleasantly, as Bucky fucks into him. He runs the tip of his tongue over the head of Steve’s cock, laving the slit. Pulling a string of _ah, ah, ah_ from Steve’s unresisting mouth.

He feels exposed, legs spread and ass open, the tiny motions of Bucky’s fingers slowly dragging him closer and closer to orgasm. When Bucky closes his lips over the head to suck down, Steve can’t hold off anymore, his back arching and legs clamping on Bucky’s shoulders. His spills in Bucky’s mouth and down his chin.

Bucky licks him clean, slowly pulling his fingers out and Steve feels uncomfortably open, gaping. He twists on the bed.

“Come up. I want to taste you.”

Bucky shuffles up, bracketing his knees on either side of Steve’s shoulders, leading his forearm on the headboard. His hole is pink and slick, just beyond reach and Steve tries to crane his neck to lick the juices running out.

Finally he lowers himself over Steve’s mouth, the hot, slick pucker coming to meet Steve’s lips in an almost kiss. Steve licks him hungrily, his hands twisting in the loose bonds.

Bucky fists himself to completion while Steve fucks him with his tongue, his seed spilling over Steve’s bound hands.

The next morning Bucky sits on the bed as Steve dresses, legs crossed and hair still messy.

“Thank you for understanding that I need you to stay here.”

Bucky nods, his eyes suddenly as walled off as they were when he had first arrived. Steve wants to stay, to make Bucky understand but time is running out. The icy fear is there again, a heavy pit in his stomach and not for the first time Steve wonders if he is making a mistake, but Bucky looks so vulnerable, among the rumpled sheets and sleep still clinging to his eyes.

Steve wants to keep this image with him in the field, to remember what he is fighting for. Not for his father’s glory or for his realms safety, but for this. So that the man in his bed, in his heart can live in safety and freedom.

He locks the door, slipping the key inside is tunic as he goes to meet the Howlies in the yard.

The armoury is busy but organized. The grooms and smiths processing each fighter at a fast pace. The Howlies are milling outside, already armed and ready. Dum-Dum playing around with his favourite set of battle axes.

“Ready to take on the red menace, Cap?”

It’s Falsworth, with a deceptively relaxed posture. Steve knows that he has at least a dozen blades hidden within his person and a dozen more ways of killing you.

“Ready as we’ll ever be.”

Falsworth gives a dry laugh as Steve straps on his armour and sword. Lifting his shield onto his back. Falsworth knows more than anyone on what they will be facing, his scouting having been the main source of their intelligence.

The amour feels good on Steve’s body. Feels right. The weight his sword and shield pushing away the grief and fear into some deep recess of his mind. He finds that the smirk on his face is genuine.

“It’ll be dangerous.”

The Howlies chuckle darkly at the familiar exchange.

“It always is.”

Their smiles are grim, expectant of a fight that they are all looking forward to, to finally able to engage after years of low-level skirmishes in the south. Helping few people at a time in an occupied land. Maybe finally they will be changing things for good.

They move out to the gates, watching the army assemble. Rebecca is flanked by her Alphas and a black-clad archer, their horses stepping restlessly, clamouring to go.

Virginia stops next to them. Her new armour gleams in the sunlight, the plates shifting and moving with her. She is as magnificent as Steve has always heard, a red shield gleaming at her side. She smiles down at them benevolently.

“So, the Winter Soldier has returned?”

“Who?”

She points to the archer in black, and as if on cue, his black horse sidesteps, throwing it’s head about.

“You don't know who that is?”

Steve shakes his head. Her smile remains, but with an edge to it.

“Interesting.”

Virginia’s voice is calm, even with the smile, but her masterful control over her emotions gives nothing away. She turns her horse, moving past Steve towards the gathering troops.

Before he can stop himself, Steve shouts:

“Who is he?”

She turns, shouting back, as she rides to join her men:

“Only the most legendary archer of our time!”

For a moment Steve watches the archer and Rebecca as her Alphas gather around.

She dips her fingers in something black in her belt and draws a line over her cheek. First the right, then the left. Mirroring her actions from the Tourney. She turns and for a moment Steve feels like she is looking right at him, her face unreadable, cold and hard.

Steve looks on as Rebecca and Virginia take their places as the head of the host. The army that has come to defend his home at Bucky’s asking. The Line of defence against the coming horde.

He looks up to the west tower one last time, imagining that he can almost see Bucky’s from, but it is only a curtain billowing in the breeze and the window remains empty.

He motions for the Howlies to move out. Not for them the main gates, but a secret, hidden route out of the city and into the eastern hills.

 _You will take your men around the force and take out the Red Skull. Cut off the leadership. It’s the only way_.

Steve knows that Rebecca had been right. As a tactician she rivals the best his house has to offer, but somehow he still feels like a coward, sneaking beyond the hills as the force they have gathered moves to the southern border, on to the field they had decided as the final battle site, knowing that the invading force would have to come through the valley.

The paths they travel are hidden by trees and boulders, dulling the sound of screams and twisting of metal, the thud of arrows finding their targets as the battle begins.

They finally get to the edge of the clearing, to the old river where water has not run in years, not since the dam was built for the mines. The field is in chaos, men and horses laid out, the ground running red with mud and blood. Steve can see Rebecca in the distance, her white cape like a beacon of hope, and Virginia her flame red shield lifted into the air to deflect an arrow.

“Come on Cap, we gotta move out.”

Morita tugs at him, the rest of the men already moving down the slope into the protection of the creek. They move down slowly, crouched and quiet.

Steve can see the leader now, his red, monstrous face shining even in the faint cloudy light, protected by a row of archers. The thick arrows of their crossbows taking down anyone who gets too close.

They watch as the battle rages on, chests and backs leaning against the grassy walls, looking for an opening in the defence perimeter around the Red Skull. Rebecca and her Alphas are corralling the infantry with frightening precision. Pushing back the defensive wall of men around the core battle force. Their swords painting red arcs in the air, while the black-clad figure takes out any archers at the rear.

His motions are smooth and fast, elegant and familiar, and in one horrifying instant, Steve understands. The archer is Bucky. His Omega, who is not safely hidden away in the castle, but on the field of battle. He pulls out a set of arrows from his quiver with a twist of his hand and takes down three of the enemy in quick succession. He guides his horse into a complicated twist with his legs and takes out two more.

Bucky is magnificent.

Steve had an inkling from the way his body had moved, from the wide shoulders and coiled muscles, but this is something different, something unrestrained.

Suddenly Rebecca is by his side, sword plunging into an enemy soldier's head who had gotten too close to her brother. They move together in perfect synchronicity, an ease born out of years of practice.

Steve’s instincts scream at him, to run across the field and defend what is his, to grab Bucky and get him as far away from the fight as possible. But he can’t move, can’t risk their location.

Finally Virginia’s troop provide the right distraction, her archers releasing a volley of fire with their bows while the cavalry forces their way closer and closer to the leader. The Red Skull panics, ordering his men to defend the right flank. Leaving his back, the riverbed undefended.

The Howlies move, all together as one. Gabe and Denier taking out the closest guards with daggers and quick twists of their palms over enemy soldier’s necks. Falsworth and Morita making quick work on the few archers still too close by. Opening up a path to the leader.

The Red Skull fights with brutal force and not much finesse. The arc of his sword hard and unyielding, but he is tired from the fight, from the long march into Steve’s lands and the day of battle. Steve is still fresh, his energy conserved. He sees the opening and takes it.

Steve plunges his sword through Red Skull’s chest, right to the hilt and into the mud below, twisting and pulling with more anger and hatred that he has allowed himself to feel. For his father for leaving him. For Bucky fighting behind a mask. For all the impossible choices he has had to make.

Blood seeps over the saturated ground and Steve watches as the life slowly drains away from those inhuman eyes, watching him with so much hate.

He looks up from the dying enemy. It happens in slow motion.

Steve sees Bucky separate from the formation, turning his horse roughly towards them, racing towards Steve. His arrows finding their targets behind the Howlies, a whack and a thud as bodies fall. Steve turns in time to see the last standing archer release an arrow straight towards Bucky. His course too set, his speed too great. The force of the hit makes Bucky lose his balance. He twists in the saddle and falls, landing on the ground with a thud.

Steve and the Howlies rush towards him, taking down what is left of the enemy as they move.

“Bucky!”

Steve can hear the scream, and across the field sees as Rebecca races towards them, dismounting even before her horse has come to a stop. She falls to her knees on the ground, pulling the mask off Bucky’s face.

“Bucky, Bucky.”

“Ah, just a flesh wound, Becs.”

He tries to smile, but it turns into a grimace.

Steve wants to go to him, but the wide expanse of Rebecca’s back is on the way, her body angled to protect Bucky. She is speaking fast and low.

“I have to push it through, to get it out.”

He nods, slowly, bracing against her with his good hand. Her fist is steady on the hilt of the arrow, their eyes fixed on one another, and then she pushes. A quick, brutal motion of her wrist. Bucky screams, the whites of his eyes bloody, as the arrow is forced past his muscles and sinew and out from the other side.

Rebecca snaps off the arrowhead and brings it to her lips, her tongue flicking against the metal. She spits.

“Poison.”

Gathering Bucky to her chest, hand pressing down on the wound as she pulls out the hilt of the arrow. Gabe kneels by them, checking the exit wound, his fingers probing and Bucky grunts in pain.

“We have to get him to a healer.”

Rebecca is nodding, still holding Bucky and pressing down on the wound with her cape.

“Help him on my horse.”

Steve is frozen in place, the world around him moving faster than he can comprehend, numb and cold. Rebecca mounts her horse again and Dum-Dum lifts Bucky to her, leaning his body against her chest. He looks back at Steve over her shoulder, eyes gentle and tired. _Saying goodbye_.

“Wait….”

But he is too late, his voice too faint as Rebecca urges her horse into a gallop, taking Bucky off the field, further and further away from Steve as he stands frozen, until the rider is only a small spot in the distance.

The world rushes by him as Virginia leads the troops in clearing the rest of the enemy. She is brutal and efficient. They are not taking any prisoners. No rules of engagement have been agreed and she gives her men free reign.

Dum-Dum finds them horses and pushes Steve up into the saddle as the rest of the Howlies mount up around him. They ride past the fallen, the rivers of blood and broken shields.

Steve tells himself that the tears running down his face are just from the wind. His breath gone from his chest only from the speed of his horse, from the battle fatigue.

The banners are already lifted to the walls, Rogers, and Barnes, Potts, and Stark, the runners already reached the castle with the news of victory. It tastes like ashes in Steve’s mouth. Dum-Dum pulls him from his horse, leads him into the keep. The houses of healing are deep within the keep, protected and walled off, smells of herbs and incense in the air.

Rebecca is sitting on a low bench, hunched over and her fingers buried in her hair, messy strands escaping the braid. The vision of her finally wakes Steve from his stupor.

“You took my Omega to the battlefield!”

Rebecca lifts her gaze to him, and for the first time, Steve can see the unfettered rage on her face. Anger so fierce and uncontained that it forces him to take a step back even before she speaks.

“He does not belong to you!”

She doesn’t shout, but she might as well have as the power of the words echo in the room. She rises slowly, dangerously.

“You think that because you marked him and shoved your cock in him, it gives you some claim over him? It doesn't.”

She lets all her anger and hate colour the timber of her Alpha voice. Steve feels his fist clench at the challenge, squaring off against her.

“You had no right to take him.”

He is right, after all, Bucky does by all laws and customs belong to Steve, but she is not giving an inch, not recognizing his claim over Bucky and Steve can feel the Howlies tense behind him, ready to spring into action. Whether to help him or to separate them, he is not sure.

“Right?! He has been here for more than half a year and you still know nothing about him! You left the best archer in the land, locked in your tower like a princess waiting for a rescue.”

Voice scathing and mocking, and she is pulling on every raw nerve Steve has. Like she knows that Bucky has still not let him in, not let Steve know him in the only way that matters. Steve feels like he is drowning, his desperation and fears swimming too close to the surface.

“You know what they do to his kind down in the south if he had been captured!”

His voice cracks, from weakness and from the horrors in his memories.

“Which gives him every right, even more than either of us, to defend his home.”

“He could die!”

It’s a desperate plea and her face softens a fraction, but loses none of the power, and finally Steve understands why so many Alphas follow this woman. Why she shines like a beacon on the battlefield.

“You and I make that choice every time we step out on the field. What gives you the right to take that away from him? Do you truly believe that he is not capable of making that decision for himself? That he does not know what he is risking?”

The silence between them is deafening.

“I asked you to be worthy of his sacrifice.”

Steve feels like she had punched him, the words wrapping around him like a physical blow. She knew, knew even before the day of the battle that Bucky was planning to join the troops. She helped him. She had not spoken of his sacrifice in marrying in Steve but sacrificing himself to defend a home he had not even wanted.

Suddenly Nany is there, her weathered face serious, tight around the eyes. She motions for Steve to follow, leaving no room for argument.

“Come with me.”

Rebecca stands stiff and guarded as he walks past her. Nany leads him into a room of light stone, white sheets and a cot.

“We’ve given him the antidote, but he needs more strength to fight it.”

Bucky looks so small, cradled among the white sheets of the cot. The healers have stripped him, his body exposed wholly to Steve for the first time. It feels like a violation, another choice that has been taken away from him. Smooth, strong legs straight and slightly spread, taut stomach and the path of hair leading over his belly to his chest. Steve’s eyes move to his left shoulder, to the place Bucky had been hiding all this time.

The scarring is extensive, red, puckered and ugly. Stretching from the middle of his sternum over his shoulder and down his bicep. Steve can’t imagine the weapon that would have done such damage. He has only seen similar scars from torture. In the middle of the mess is the hole made by today’s arrow, raw and bleeding through the bandages. It had narrowly missed his clavicle, piercing just where his shoulder joint starts.

“I don’t know what you want me to do?”

Steve feels helpless watching him, there is nothing in him that could fix this, to make this better. Nany pushes him forward, closer and closer to the cot.

“The knotting, bonding, is not only about claiming or ownership as most Alphas see it but about trust and joining.”

Steve rears back, moving away from her and away from Bucky who doesn’t seem to even know that they are there. Unperturbed Nany continues:

“The connection between and Alpha and an Omega is a powerful one. Not only to satiate lust and procreate but to create a stronger unit. A pair that is stronger together than apart.”

“You want me to…? Now?”

She nods, her face solemn and calm.

“I will leave you.”

And then the room is empty, silent, only Bucky’s laboured breathing filling the air.

Steve kneels by the bed and Bucky looks at him, gaze unfocused and clouded with pain. He flinches as Steve reaches out to touch him, his whole body jerking on the cot, leaving Steve’s hand hovering in the air.

Bucky had hated it. The sounds he had made, agitated and frightened, play in his mind on a continuous loop. They way he had reached back after, touching himself as if looking for a wound, an injury.

Steve can’t. He can’t climb into the cot and force this on Bucky who has suffered so much at his hands already. Bucky whom he loves more than anything in the world. He hasn’t been able to admit it to himself, not until now when it is too late.

Steve springs up from the floor as if burned, turning around, leaving with halting steps. He staggers out of the room. It is as if his strings have been cut, crashing to his knees in front of Rebecca who is still standing in the hall, burying his face in her stomach. She smells like Bucky if Bucky were an Alpha.

“Please, please help him. I can't lose him.”

Her hands come to rest on his shoulders, cautious and unsure, Steve’s fist clenched on her side, in the leather of her armour. He is begging. If Bucky would want anyone to heal him it’s Rebecca.

“He is my entire life, he has always been my life. Please.”

Her form is stiff against him, fighting the urge to push him away.

“What are you talking about? You met him not six moons ago.”

Steve speaks against her, her armour muffling the sound, the tremor in his voice.

“I met him when I was twelve. A boy in a tree by the river.”

Suddenly Rebecca is curling around him, her hands cradling his head gently as she whispers:

“ _Stevie._ ”

No one has called him that in an age. He curls his arms around her middle and cries into her body. She rocks him, her hands in his hair.

“Stevie. Why didn’t you tell us?”

She is so kind, her voice soft in a way that Steve didn’t know Alphas could be.

“He didn’t remember me. I thought it didn’t mean anything to him.”

She holds him, strong and tender in equal measure. Her body supporting him, unyielding and sure, taking in his grief. Her hands guide his face up, looking straight into her eyes, brown and warm, so different Bucky’s.

“You have to tell him. Make him understand who you are.”

Her smile is sad and honest.

“Bucky has kept you sheltered in his heart all these years. Trying to keep hope alive that one day he could be happy.”

She is letting him go. Steve feels it in her posture, the shift in her body, grief and relief mixing on her face.

“You were the only one I would have ever given him up for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you everyone for commenting and the kudos! :) 
> 
> If you are interested, [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BEG-ly9tQGk) is really interesting and was key to my research on medieval archery.
> 
> Also, I know this is not even MUC, but this [fan-made Wonder Woman trailer](https://youtu.be/24AAbBosQ0s) made me go “BEECCCCAAAAAA!!!!”


	8. VII. Bucky

_Will you still love me  
When I got nothing but my aching soul?_

The pain in his shoulder spreads, over his chest, down his belly, hips and legs. The movement of the horse jolts him painfully. Becca’s scent, blood, and mud in his nose.

He is at Azzano.

No, no, that was long time ago.

He’s on the field, Steve looking at him with betrayal and anger in his eyes, those familiar blue eyes, which have never looked at him quite like that.

He was never going to be a good Omega, never learned to listen to his Alpha, never obeyed. He’d tried to learn to be different, to fit himself into a mould that was never quite meant for him. Scraping off edges, cutting pieces of himself, but it was never enough.

He holds on to Becca, his right hand like a claw on her cape, the heavy wool of it itchy between his fingers. Her breathing heavy against him, caught between his chest and his arm. The pain spreads over his body, washes him in bright, terrible light. It’s freeing, knowing that he finally has what he deserves. He thought that Azzano would be the end, had wanted it to be. Fate did not take him there, but maybe this time.

He recognizes the courtyard as they arrive, the memories of seeing Steve standing on the parapet, his hair golden even in the dim, grey September light are sharp pinpricks in his mind. He looks up into the tower. His tower. _His and Steve’s_.

Becca had come to him there. Mere hours ago, now feeling like a lifetime. He remembers it like it had been a lifetime ago.

The lock cracks, a force greater than the old metal bending it to its will.

She is in the doorway, a bundle in her hands. The black, familiar scent of leather and sweat. His armour.

“You still have my gift?”

Becca smiles, predatory and sharp, and he feels his face responding, the mask of indifference he has worn for so long slipping away.

“Always.”

She presses her fingers into her neck, the tips pushing the skin in an achingly familiar way. Palms and fingers running over his neck and his ears, paths they have travelled thousands of times. Her eyes are brown, with deep flecks of yellow and amber, looking into him, questioning him.

“Bucky...”

He can’t have her doubt him as well, not now, not today.

“Please don’t ask if I’m sure.”

And she knows, has always known what he needed, what he is.

“Alright.”

The armour is like a second skin, completing him in ways that he has almost forgotten. The parts of him that he has left to atrophy, springing to life at the feel of the leather and metal.

They don’t run or hide. He strides next to Becca as if his place had always been here. There are looks, scared, respectful looks, looks that an Omega would never receive.

His horse is at the gate, waiting for him. He knows Bucky, his soft muzzle against his palm, lips looking for treats. He smiles behind the mask. An Omega has no use for a combat ready mount, but Becca had kept him, had kept him for Bucky. Waiting for this day. She had always been the more hopeful one of them.

Becca hoists him down from the horse, the motion jolting his shoulder. Bucky thinks that he screams, a flock of birds taking off from the tree at the sounds. His throat feels raw and he wonders if he has been screaming the whole way.He wonders now if he made a mistake leaving the safety of the keep. If his place had been in that tower. If he should have stayed behind.

He’s at Azzano. The smoke in the air. His shoulder on fire.

No, no. It was long time ago.

Strong arms around him, half-dragging, half-carrying him along the stone hallways, servants stopping to look, to clasp their hands over their mouths in horror.

The healers strip him. Impersonal, fast hands. They touch the wound and it burns, cuts into him and he screams again as they clean it.

They tip his head back and force him to drink. The liquid burns his raw throat, sliding down slowly like tar. He coughs; tries to fight it, but they hold his head still.

He’s at Azzano.

He is watching himself, but also feeling the horse below him, the bow in his hand, the fletching running past his fingertips as he aims.

They should have been home three days ago, and he can feel the burn and itch of his heat coiling in his belly. The armour and face mask cover all his glands, dampening the scent. The mud and blood caked over him covering the rest.

It allows him to stay awake, watching the Alphas with fear and want as they sleep in the dug out foxholes. He isn’t sure if Becca knows. She can count, knows his days as well as he does.

The raiders are guerrilla fighters. Flash attacks at night and hiding in the woodland during the day. There are not enough of them in the troop to send anyone for aid, so they all stay, barely sleeping and barely surviving. Taking out some of the enemies in the darkness.

Bucky hides what he is, what is happening to his body the way he has for years now.

Steve is with him, looking down at him from a great height. It’s cold. His body is cold, shivering.

Steve can see all of it now, the disgusting deformity that he is. Bucky can read the horror and the disgust on his face as he asks:

“I don’t know what you want me to do?”

Like there is nothing left of Bucky that he wants, needs or desires. He feels colder, icy spread from his belly to his limbs.

The healer is there too. She knows of his deformity, maybe she is showing Steve now as well. She is speaking but Bucky doesn’t hear, doesn’t want to hear.

Then she is gone. Leaving Steve alone with him.

Bucky wants to tell him that he is sorry. That he won’t be here for long. That Steve can find someone else, someone who he wants, someone worthy, but the horror remains fixed on Steve’s face and Bucky’s raw, tar filled throat will not make any sounds.

Steve reaches out and fingers graze the skin of his good shoulder. His touch burns, hot against his freezing skin. Bucky wants the touch to stop, but when Steve takes his hand away Bucky misses it, craves it back like a man dying of thirst craves water. This might be his last chance to feel Steve’s touch and he has never realized how much he had wanted it before.

But Steve doesn’t touch him again. Instead, he leaves and the room is empty again. Empty, white and cold.

He is at Azzano.

The trap closes around his shoulder, tears and pulls the flesh, yanks him off his horse. He lands on his side, breath caught and gone from his lungs. They pull him on the ground, his shoulder tearing from the weight of his body, from the claws of metal in his skin.

He sees Becca through the haze of pain, riding like the devil himself is at her heels. She catches the rider pulling him in, leaping from her own mount onto his, landing on his back. Sinking her dagger into his chest, slices his abdomen open, his throat. Blood splatters over her hands, over her face and the pull on the chain disappears.

She crouches over him, even the mask of blood is not enough to hide her horror as she tries to pry the trap from his shoulder. It has torn his armor and blood pours from the gouges in his shoulder. The coppery smell of it mixes with the honey smell of his heat. The mask is gone and the armour protecting his neck and shoulder in tatters.

Beyond her he sees the Alphas moving restlessly. Fighting for their lives, but even the enemy combatants are turning to him. He knows that the smell is heady for them, knows that the blood rush of combat makes it worse.

Becca turns to them, rising to her full height. Blood still dripping from her hands, the blood splatter covering her face. Her shield angled to protect Bucky on the ground.

She sees what he has already realized. There are too many of them, and Becca is only the one, the one shield between him and the world. He sees it then, the pain and the weight she carries with her, in a flash on her face. He sees and knows what the promises are that she must now break.

Her voice does not waver, does not crack and for that Bucky is proud.

“This is James Barnes, my brother! Are you truly going to let some southern scumbag mate with a Barnes Omega?”

He knows what she has to do. Understands why. His only sorrow is for her, in the knowledge that she will never forgive herself.

“The last one of you standing can have him.”

They fight for him as he lies bleeding on the ground, his blood soaking into the earth. Becca does her best to stem the flow, her face ashen and closed off. She keeps her sword and her shield close by, turning constantly to look at the fighting.

Then there are only two left. All of the enemy slain and her fellow Alphas left alive or wounded, no one playing by the rules of the rut now.

She rises again from his side, sword and shield in hand. She doesn’t say anything, just charges. Her attack is fast and brutal. She is not looking to wound, but to kill now.

They attack her together, seeing her as a usurper.

She cuts down her second in command without hesitation, her sword sinking into his side, and then there in only her and another. A young Alpha, only having joined them a year ago, Becca takes him out with her shield, a brutal blow meant to kill. She is bleeding from her head and from her side. The blood frames her face, contrast to her white skin.

She stands above them, fearsome and horrifying. The fractured mirror image of Bucky, an Alpha his father had always dreamed of.

He holds her tight as they ride, fingers in her white cape, covered in mud and blood. She smells like fear, like death and destruction. The pain of his shoulder slowly spreads over his chest, down his back. His left arm is already numb, unmoving heavy weight by his side.

She is crying, and an endless stream of _I’m sorry’s_ , and Bucky can’t comprehend how she doesn’t know. How she doesn’t understand that she has nothing to be sorry for. That she has already saved him years ago, that this is just fate catching up.

He wonders then, that maybe she is not asking for his forgiveness, but forgiveness of her men left out in the field. Left dead and cut because of Bucky. Because of the fierce and terrible love that they hold for one another.

He bleeds into her; he hopes that whatever good he is, whatever good he has ever been will stay with her, will now be a part of her.

Becca is with him. He hands are warm and she covers his shivering body with blankets and sheets. They smell familiar and safe.

He remembers now. Steve’s gentle Alpha scent, wrapped around him as they sleep. Steve will not want him now, now that he has disobeyed. He is not in the room anymore. He left.

Becca runs her hands over his feverish forehead.

“We got these from your room, we thought they might help with grounding.”

She rubs the sheets over him, palms gentle on his good arm and on his belly.

“The healers said that you might be delirious for a few hours, not know where you are. They gave you an antidote for the poison and tinctures to help the shoulder heal. They have stitched the wound and packed it.”

She bows her head on the side of his bed, an echo of a motion she had done long ago, after Azzano. Bucky palms the back of her head, a wordless apology, and atonement.

He sleeps, dreamless but not restful. Closing his eyes feels too much like courting death. Maybe he should welcome it, but the comforting scent of Steve in the blankets pulls him back. Draws him into memories of wide gentle hands, words he never hears muttered into his skin, of warmth and safety.

He is not sure how long he is in the recovery rooms. Sometimes healers come in to check on his shoulder. Sometimes they bring broth and water for him to drink, sometimes medicines sliding thickly down his throat. He thinks that sometimes when he sleeps Steve is there, his dreams filled with a warm presence, a gentle protective scent. But when he awakes the rooms are always empty.

Finally Becca returns, carrying a bundle of clothing and a pair of boots.

“The healers have done all that they can, so we have to try something different.”

He looks at her expectant face and the bundle of clothing clearly meant for him. She wants him to leave.

“No. Becca, just let me be.”

She purses her lips and shakes her head unimpressed.

“I let you hide after Azzano because I felt guilty, I wanted to atone, but I know now that I should have never let you punish yourself the way you did. I’m not going to repeat that mistake.”

He knows this voice. The Alpha voice she only uses on him, gentle but leaving no room for argument. Bucky finds himself struggling up and giving her a dirty look.

“You shouldn’t use the voice, not your Omega.”

He grumbles and she smiles.

“Yeah, yeah, Buck. I can’t just let you rot here for the rest of your life.”

He is still weak and she helps him dress, mindful of the bandages on his shoulder. They walk out of the Houses of Healing the same way they arrived, with him leaning heavily on her, his arm around her shoulders and her arm tight around his middle.

She takes him to the stables and the secret entrance to the keep that is hidden behind the sheds.

Steve is there, waiting for them, the reins of a huge pack horse loosely grasped in his hands. His face breaks out into a small, hopeful smile as he spots them and Bucky feels tense. For a brief, horrible moment he thinks that Steve is sending him away, that he has finally decided to send Bucky to die alone in the wilderness.

Becca rubs his side, sensing his distress.

“I will never ask you to go with him against your will, but I trust him and there is something that he needs to show you.”

Then she leans into him, the side of her head touching his. It’s such a familiar gesture, one he has felt thousands of times and he aches with the familiarity of it.

“And you need to let him.”

He almost collapses into her then and she bears most of his weight and Bucky is grateful for the support. He has missed Becca so much. Hi voice is rough and gravelly when he finally speaks.

“He hates me.”

“No Bucky, he doesn’t.”

Smiles at him gentle and kind, she kisses his forehead, her lips cool and familiar. Slowly she gets him to walk up to Steve, who reaches out for him as soon as they are at a touching distance, his big warm hand coming to rest on Bucky’s forearm.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

Bucky swallows convulsively, still thinking back to the horror and betrayal on Steve’s face in the field and in the sick room. His voice is barely a croak.

“Tired.”

Steve nods, rubbing his hand up and down Bucky’s arm. It’s comforting and familiar and Bucky hates how much he has been craving Steve’s touch.

“There is something I want to show you, it’s outside the city. Do you think you can take a little trip with me?”

He nods cautiously.

“Yeah.”

The horse is big and wide, with a pack laid over his rump, meant to carry both of them. There is no saddle, which makes it easier for both of them to sit comfortably on its back.

Becca gives him a boost up, helping him get his leg over the wide expanse of the horse’s back. His sweating by the time he can lean back against the wide expanse of Steve’s chest. His arms come around Bucky and a soft exhale in his ear:

“I’ve got you.”

Bucky lets his aching back relax against Steve, the feeling of security and the comfort of Steve’s scent around him. Cold sweat is still running down his spine, but he tries to ignore his apprehension. He trust Becca, who is running her hands over the horse’s neck and smiling up at both of them.

“Alright, Rogers. I’m trusting you here, so don’t do anything stupid.”

Steve laughs, surprised, and it echoes from Steve’s chest to Bucky’s back, warming him.

“How can I, I’m leaving all the stupid here with you.”

Becca laughs out loud, a bright and happy sound, and the tightness that has been constricting Bucky’s chest eases.

She waves them out from the secret gate and closes it behind them with a quiet thud.

Steve rides slowly, one hand on the reins, another wrapped securely around Bucky’s middle. He hums a tuneless song under his breath, swaying them along the horse’s gait. They reach the river with the sun low in the sky and the air starting to cool into a nice spring evening.

The rope is still there, gently swaying in the breeze. The trees no longer look like friends, but like lovers trying to breach a distance, forever out of each of the other, divided by the water.

“Why are we here?”

He feels betrayed, having his home so close and yet separated by the river. He wonders if Steve is here to tell him to leave, to cross the river and never come back.

“Because there is something I have to tell you. Something I should have told you on the first day.”

Steve dismounts, leaving Bucky swaying, grasping the horse’s mane for balance. Steve helps him down, hands on his hips and back, supporting him against his larger frame. Bucky leans into his warmth, already missing Steve’s presence at his back from the ride.

Steve pulls down the packs and they walk to the tree. Steve doesn’t let go, his hands always touching. He sets the packs down where the exposed roots form a sheltered enclave, the spring floods having washed away the earth.

He holds Bucky close to him, letting his head rest against Steve’s shoulder, letting Bucky feel the steady heartbeat in his chest. Then he starts to speak halting at first like he is grasping for the right words.

“In this tree, high up in the trunk next to a wide branch that is perfect for sitting, are two carved names.”

Bucky lifts his head from Steve’s shoulder, his heart beating painfully in his chest.

“You carved them into the trunk and I pressed my charcoal into the grooves, to make it black and to make it stick. A promise that we would be friends forever.”

Steve’s hands come to circle his face, holding Bucky’s jaw in his palms, so gentle. His thumbs stroking over Bucky’s cheekbones. It still startles him how gentle Steve’s hands are, how kindly he touches Bucky after all that he has done.

“Bucky, I have loved you my whole life. You have been the one thing that has kept me going through all these years, the hope that I might one day get to see you again.”

Steve leans to him, their foreheads touching, and his voice breaks, emotion bleeding through into the words that Bucky finds difficult to understand.

“Please, please don’t leave me. I have only now found you again and I want the chance to show you how much I love you, how much you mean to me.”

The cornflower blue eyes look at him ardently, framed by dusky lashes. Berry red lips curved in a small hopeful smile.

Bucky exhales, long and painful. The word is on his lips, already formed in his mouth, before he even knows that he wants to say it.

“Stevie?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry that this chapter is quite short. I wrote most of it on an intercontinental flight with the guy in front of me shoving his chair in my face. ಠ_ಠ
> 
> There is one more chapter (which, to be honest, will be mostly porn) and the epilogue left to go.
> 
> Again, thank you to everyone who has left feedback and kudos, you guys are awesome!


	9. VIII. Steve

_I know you will, I know you will  
I know that you will_

Bucky is watching him with a sort of cautious wonder.

“Stevie?”

Voice thick and disbelieving, and Steve nods, joyous at the recognition in Bucky’s eyes. He reaches up and holds Steve’s face in his trembling hands. The kiss is exactly as Steve remembers and nothing like it at all. Bucky’s lips are still soft, but the stubble is new. He tastes like cinnamon and every good memory of that faraway summer rolled into one.

Steve’s hands shake as he tries to gently, oh so gently, pull Bucky closer to his body.

Bucky’s crying now.

“Oh Stevie, how did I not see you.”

“Shh, shh, it’s alright. I’ve got you now.”

Steve rubs their noses together, tries to infuse his voice with as much comfort and love as he can. He wants Bucky to know in every fiber of his being how much he is adored, how much he is loved.

Bucky clings to him, his bad arm trapped between their bodies. The kisses turning more heated, lips parting and tongues meeting for the first time. Steve is almost drunk at the taste of him, at the heady combination of memory remembered and made anew.

Eventually Bucky sags against him, his legs too tired to stand. Steve holds him close for a moment, keeping Bucky upright against his chest, letting his lips move over his jaw, over his cheeks and forehead. Holding on to his mate the way he has wanted to since that first look from the parapet, the cloudy autumn day when he thought that all his dreams had come true. The thought catches in his throat, it’s too new and too fragile for him to voice, but he can’t help but let the hope bloom in his chest, easing the tight coils of worry and anger.

“Can you stand? I need to set up camp for the night.”

He palms Bucky’s hair, kisses him again, his lips soft and open under Steve’s own.

Bucky leans on the tree, back resting against the gnarled bark as Steve lays down the sleep pallets and a few blankets in the apex of the raised roots. Bucky sits into the nook with a weary sigh, clearly grateful to be off his feet. Steve can see edges of pain in his face, and in the way, he cradles his left arm against his chest.

It’s not yet late, but Steve can see the sky beginning to darken slightly. Bucky watches as he builds the fire pit and collects wood. The look on his face reminds Steve of the first time, Bucky watching him fussing on the bed, arranging the covers. One of the few times Bucky had looked at him like an Omega looking at an Alpha, unguarded and hungry. It makes him smile and makes his chest ache. He knows that Bucky doesn’t need looking after, doesn’t need a protector, but it doesn’t stop him from wanting to offer it. Wanting to be that protector for him.

He tries the flint twice and the bark and twigs catch the spark into a small, weak flame. He covers it with his hands, protecting it from the wind. He doesn’t look at Bucky when he finally speaks.

“I’m sorry I asked you to stay behind.”

He’s wanted to say it for days. The thought growing within him, a humility sprung up from Rebecca’s words. When he finally turns to look Bucky’s eyes are dark and unreadable, but then he shakes his head, his hand a tight fist in his lap. Steve continues, doggedly.

“No, I should have trusted you. I should have seen you. To say now that I love you and wanted you to be safe is cowardly.”

Bucky is quiet for a long time, he looks into the small flames Steve has been able to coax out of the still damp logs of wood. When he speaks his voice is hesitant.

“I would have asked you to stay safe too if I could have.”

Steve tries to speak but Bucky raises a hand to stop him.

“I wanted to make sure that you were safe. I broke formation for you. I’ve never done that before. Not for anyone. Not even for Becca.”

His eyes heavy and mouth twisted in a frown.

“I understand why you do not want me in the field, but it’s all that I am good for, what I’ve ever been good for.”

His voice breaks.

“I know what an Omega is for. What I should be for.”

Steve feels his anger flare, bright and hot. It cuts him the same way his father’s insults towards Bucky on the day of the introduction had, but he had never thought that those words would wound Bucky, would cut him deeper than shallow skin.

“No! Don’t ever say that. Don’t even suggest it. You are so much more… you are everything to me.”

Steve crawls to him from the fire, kneeling in front of him on the pallets.

“I know you doubt me. I know you think that I do not trust you to look after yourself.”

Bucky shakes his head, his eyes sad and defeated and Steve wants to do everything in his power to change it, to make Bucky understand that he is so much more than just an Omega, more than just a vessel for breeding.

He wraps his palms around Bucky’s closed off fist, warming the chilled skin.

“I promise you to try, to be better. I can’t promise that I won’t try to protect you, you cannot ask me to stop that, but I promise that I will always have you by my side.”

He nudges Bucky to the side and slides behind him, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s middle, leaning him against Steve’s chest, an echo of the first morning after. They sit in the nook formed by the roots, blankets wrapped around their bodies against the chill of the evening as the sun slowly sets and the riverside darkens into night. The fire crackles and pops, tiny sparks disappearing into the air.

Steve tells Bucky about his childhood, about being small and weak, and a hideous disappointment to his father. And how he suddenly grew inches upon inches and presented when he was seventeen. Then everyone wanted to be his friend, his father’s coldness suddenly turned to a familial camaraderie. Of how he was suddenly a mountain of a young man on the outside but still scrappy and tiny on the inside, and no one else could see it.

He talks how that one warm, incredible summer had kept him going. How he had hoped that maybe once he presented as Omega he could go out and find Bucky and they could be together forever.

Even after, he would sometimes think about it, wrapped in a bedroll, asleep in the woods with the Howlies far from home. He used to imagine himself as he used to be, skinny and small and an Omega. Having a small house, nothing too ostentatious, a nice little life with Bucky as his Alpha. How he would come home and would take care of Steve, would love Steve exactly as he was. It was a comforting fantasy.

Steve was never quite sure how to be an Alpha. Growing up he had never even imagined that he would be one, hadn’t even fantasised about it. His father had always assumed that he would be an Omega and had not been silent regarding his displeasure over his son.

Alphas were the boys who would beat him up, pushed him around. Even the Beta boys didn’t want to spend time with him. It didn’t matter who he was, how noble his lineage.

His parents didn’t worry about his lack of friends, so certain they were that he would present as an Omega, and they would have to separate him from them. He was seen as an Omega pretending Alpha traits. Scruffy and confrontational and never backed down from a fight. He would scrap and get beaten up over the most stupid things. Later on, Steve did wonder is his stubbornness, his refusal to walk away from any fight were his Alpha tendencies coming out even before his body was ready. Or was it just his personality, nothing to do with his biological assignation.

After he had presented his mother had admitted that she had sometimes wondered. Looked at the way he behaved, the way he puffed up his chest, his fist tight and knuckles white, defending those weaker than him. He had smiled at that, not too many things had been weaker than him during that time.

Even after, he felt ill at ease with his own biology. When he was nineteen, all those teenage Alpha hormones came rushing with a vengeance. He rolled around in the hay a few times with a couple of Beta boys but kept his distance from Omegas. He knew that poor farmers from his father’s lands had offered their Omega daughters for him, in hopes of them getting pregnant, he assumed, or just to gain some favour by being a lover of nobility. His father did offer to procure him an Omega, magnanimous and happy then that his son was finally worthy of his admiration, a virile Alpha.

Steve had always wanted his father’s approval, had always sought it out. Wanted to prove to him that even if he was a runt of a boy, he was still useful, still worth something. All those scraped knees and knuckles, broken bones and re-set nose, and nothing had been worthy.

The casual way in which he had offered had twisted in Steve’s stomach into something nasty and unpleasant.

“Let me bring you one of the Omega girls from the village, you’ve earned it now. Get your knot into something proper.”

He remembered the powerlessness, the casual cruelty, the taunts and names that had been flung his way when people had thought of him as an Omega. How weak and useless he had felt, and how his father had made those feeling even worse.

No, he had not wanted an Omega to state his base urges.

He had found the Howlies not long after and escaped to the South in the guise of a reconnaissance mission.

He tells Bucky none of this. It seems too personal, too raw even now. Especially now with Bucky warm and real in his arms, listening to him, fingers entwined with his. Steve noses the back of Bucky’s neck, the edge of his hairline, his lips ghosting over the bondmark, sunk into his skin and Bucky shivers. They are silent for a long time, just listening to the fire and the rushing of the water in the darkness.

“I never knew how to be an Omega. I had to learn before the wedding, how to behave and how to present.”

Steve feels the rumble of Bucky’s voice against his chest and holds him a fraction tighter.

“It angered me when you saw how scared I was. I didn’t want your pity and I didn’t want to like you. But you were so kind.”

Bucky curls to him and it’s a balm against his words.

“That is why I let you stay with me during the heat. I thought that maybe you wouldn’t hurt me too badly.”

He thinks back to his hidden away books, of bodies wrapped around each other like two parts of a whole. Not one that dominates the other, but like two metals mixed together to make a stronger sword, parts made stronger by their joining.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

Bucky shakes his head, his hair tickling Steve’s chin.

“You didn’t.”

Steve finds the bondmark again and kisses it, it’s white and raised, the skin still slightly red around the edges. Bucky lets out a hiss of air as if he had been holding his breath. Steve kisses around the mark, tiny peppered touches of his lips, rubs his nose over the scar, murmurs I love you so quietly that he is sure that Bucky can’t hear.

“Steve.”

It’s more of a sigh than a word. Bucky’s head rolls forward, exposing more of his neck for Steve’s hungry lips, and Steve is more than happy to indulge him.

His kisses become bolder, the tip of his tongue sweeping over the raised bondmark. It makes Bucky shudder and sigh again and Steve tightens his hold around Bucky’s middle, his hands running gentle strokes over his chest.

He has avoided touching the mark too much since the first time. He has seen Bucky scratching it, his face irritated and pinched. Assuming that touching the skin was unpleasant for him. But Bucky is pushing his body against Steve, shifting closer every time Steve tries to take his lips away from the skin.

“Does this feel good?”

He breathes the words again Bucky’s skin, against the mark. He has to ask, has to be sure. Bucky hums, nodding and wiggling impossibly closer his arms.

“Yeah… didn’t use to feel good. Feels really good now.”

Steve smiles, hiding his face in the loose hair at the back of Bucky’s neck. Working his way from the hairline back to the mark, lips open, wet and hot against the sensitive skin. Bucky hums, shimmying and doing a full body roll against Steve’s chest. Steve tries to keep him still, mindful of his healing shoulder.

He takes Steve’s hand into his good one, and guides it down his body to the obvious bulge between his legs. Steve lets his fingers run over the hardness through the material of Bucky’s breeches, keeping his lips sealed over the bondmark, sucking gently. Bucky jerks into his hand, grunting in appreciation at the pressure.

Steve slides the buttons open and shimmies his hand inside the material of Bucky’s breeches and underwear, wrapping his fingers around the hot, hard length of his cock. Bucky leans back, his hips stuttering, moaning Steve’s name. Twisting back and forth, as if he is not entirely sure if he wants to throw his head back or expose more of his neck to Steve’s gentle ministrations.

It feels like an age since he has touched Bucky since his hands have wandered over this much-adored body and brought him pleasure.

Steve lets his fingers skim over Bucky’s balls, gently rubbing the sensitive skin behind, the heavy weight of them resting on his palm. He can feel the slick over the skin already, his fingers sliding easily over Bucky’s taint to his arse hole, the tight bud of skin already trembling. Steve lets his fingertips rub over the rim, teasing, as more slick slides out of Bucky’s body.

Bucky moans, his hips stuttering, his body jerking at the sensation and Steve’s finger slides into the hot, wet heat of Bucky’s hole almost by accident. Bucky whines at the intrusion, trying to spread his legs wider, trapped still within the fabric of his breeches.

Steve guides Bucky’s good arm around his shoulder, holding himself up against Steve’s chest and freeing Steve’s other hand to move between Bucky’s legs, wrapping around his cock. The head is slick and red as he runs his fingers over it, the motion making Bucky sob and fuck back against the finger in his arse.

Bucky’s breeches are tight around his hand, constricting his movements, but he doesn’t want to tease or stop, not after everything. He slides another finger into Bucky’s hole and jacks down his cock with a solid grip, lets his teeth gently scrape over the bondmark. Bucky comes suddenly at the touch, his hole clenching tight around Steve’s fingers and his cock spurting wetly into Steve’s palm.

Bucky lies against him, body heavy and lax. He breathes out Steve’s name like a prayer, rolling his hips against Steve’s, against the insistent hardness of his own, neglected cock.

“Steve. I want you to knot me.”

“Bucky...”

“No, I do. I want you to. You have to know how much… how long I’ve waited for you.”

Steve mouths the back of his neck, tempted and afraid.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

He still remembers the sound Bucky had made, remembers it every time his body wants to push and to claim.

Bucky’s body had gripped him like a vice, the rhythmic contractions of his orgasm wrapping around his blown out knot. It had been the first time his knot had been inside someone and it had felt like heaven, like belonging. The bondmark had tasted like honey and metal on his tongue.

There had been a moment of quiet when Bucky was still, his body cradling Steve’s knot and Steve licking over the new bondmark, gentling the puffed up and broken skin. He had been floating, happiness and contentment squeezing his chest so that he thought that he might not have been able to breathe.

Then Bucky had started to keen, painfully, and had tried to pull his body away. Steve had heard the sudden sobs caught in his throat, had felt the way his body tensed in pain. He had tried to hold Bucky, to calm him, but he kept crying, begging Steve to let him go, but he couldn’t.

In that moment Steve would have given anything and everything to be a Beta, to not have a knot holding Bucky in place.

He had held Bucky tight, trying to stop the painful pull of the knot, shushed him, rocked them on the sheets. Tried everything that he could to show that he didn’t mean Bucky any harm, that he wanted to protect him, to make him feel good. He had pulled the heat scented blankets closer, wrapping them around their bodies, trying to recreate the comfort of the nest.

He had been so angry at himself, at his body, at not being good enough, not having been gentle enough. Eventually, Bucky had fallen asleep. Steve had stayed awake, body wrapped around his back, guarding him, trying to make up for his own failures.

He hadn’t knotted Bucky since, hadn’t wanted to and Bucky hadn’t asked. Steve hadn’t minded, it had meant that afterwards he had always been able to pull Bucky to him, they had been able to wrap themselves in each other, a tangle of limbs and mouths which had always been so much better.

No matter how much he tells himself that, Steve knows it is a lie.

He does want to knot Bucky, does want to possess him and be possessed by him in a fundamental way, in the way they have been built to. And he hates himself for it. How can he want something that so clearly brought so much distress to his mate.

Bucky is twisting in his arms, nose pressing against the scent glands in his neck, breathing against the sensitive skin.

“You won’t hurt me.”

“How do you know.”

Words almost like a sob, and it’s Bucky’s turn to hold him, to shush against his neck. He moves, awkwardly, in Steve’s embrace, straddling his lap.

“Steve… Stevie. I dream about it, about you being so close to me that you can’t leave.”

Bucy’s good arm wrapping around his shoulder, palming the back of his neck, the sweaty skin there. Tongue flicking out, teasing the sensitive the glands at the juncture of his jaw, hips pressing down on Steve’s cock.

“Please.”

It’s spoken against his lips. Bucky’s eyes watching him, pools of luminous grey, full of love and longing. Steve knows that he will never be able to refuse Bucky anything nor does he want to.

The firelight dances over Bucky’s skin, it flickers and forms warm patterns. Steve helps him pull the shirt over his head and down over his left arm, minding the bandages. They both wiggle out of their breeches and underwear, shivering slightly in the night air. Steve presses his lips to the scarring over the sternum and he feels Bucky tremble.

Their noses touching, mouths open against each other, sharing the same breath. The bark of the tree is hard and warm against his back, grounding and solid as the head of his cock slides over Bucky’s slick hole in the valley of his arse as he settles back, legs spread, straddling Steve's hips.

Bucky angles against the support of Steve’s hand on the curve of his lower back, the head of Steve’s cock sliding into him. The grip and the slide of his body is achingly familiar but the feel of Bucky’s lips against his own is new and wondrous. The way he breathes out _Steve Steve Steve_ over and over until he is sitting flush in Steve’s lap, his right hand holding a death grip over Steve’s bicep.

Bucky presses down against the swollen knot and Steve slides his fingertip over the slick, stretched out rim of his hole, but he isn’t ready for this to end yet. He slides his palm over the swell of Bucky’s arse, guiding him into a slow rhythm, with only the tip of Steve’s cock in him.

Bucky is leaning on him, their chests flush together, his good arm around Steve’s shoulders. Hitched breaths against Steve’s cheek as he moves, slow undulating swing of his hips, teasing the knot on each downward stroke.

Steve runs his fingers over the nubs of Bucky’s spine, mindful of the scars, his palm coming to rest over the bondmark. It feels hot to the touch and Bucky arches into him, pressing down. The knot pops in and Bucky lets out a little _ah ah_ noise, his eyes closed and mouth open.

Steve has nearly forgotten the feeling of his knot enveloped inside Bucky’s hot, tight body. He breathes against Bucky’s forehead, lips grazing the hairline, trying to fight against the urge to shove Bucky down on the ground and fuck his knot in and out of his tight hole.

“Alright?”

Bucky nods and Steve can feel his body spasm, adjusting, breathing in Steve’s embrace. Then Bucky starts to move, a gentle sway, that never pulls the knot out fully but presses it against the tight rim of his hole maddeningly, teasingly, pulling pained noises out of Steve’s throat. Steve kneads the flesh of his arse in his palms, fingers sneaking to tease their joining until Bucky whines and moans against his mouth.

He holds Bucky still, a hand on his lower back while Steve runs his thumb over the slick head of his cock, sliding into the slit. Bucky is begging, a litany of _please, please, please_ escaping into the night, his mouth open and slack.

Bucky’s whole body contracts when he comes, squeezing the knot, milking it until Steve is coming too, undone and unmade, moaning Bucky’s name against his mouth, sharing breath.

Sweat is running down their bodies even in the relative cool of the night, the embers of the dying fire providing some heat. Bucky pressed tight to his chest, his forehead resting on Steve’s sternum, hot breath ghosting over Steve’s skin.

The scent of Bucky surrounds him, cinnamon and summer evenings, hope and magick rolled into one. Steve closes his eyes, his nose buried in Bucky’s neck, scenting and murmuring against the skin. Whispered _I love you’s_ and _please, let me keep you_. Steve runs his fingers over where they are joined, the rim stretched to accommodate him, and Bucky whines, his arm locking tighter around Steve’s shoulders.

Even after the knot goes down, Bucky doesn’t move, curled into Steve’s chest, a faint Omega purr emitting deep from his chest.

Steve spends the night mapping Bucky’s skin in the light of the embers, throwing in a log when the fire looks like it’s about to die. When it catches again, the bright yellow of the flames lights up new shadows and planes. Bucky looks at him as he explores, his flint-grey eyes warm for the first time. He sighs in pleasure when Steve find patches where he still has sensation and Steve commits them to memory.

They wake up to the hazy pre-dawn light. Mist is hanging on the water and over the grassy bank. Bucky is pressed against him, warm and secure within the blankets, both of their skin sticky and matted from sweat and slick and semen, but Steve would not change it for the world.

They dress and Steve is surprised to see how well the shoulder seems to have healed. Bucky gently tests its range of motion as he pulls his shirt over his head, looking at the joint with a slight frown. Steve places a kiss over the linen, right where the arrow hit and it makes Bucky smile, a gentle curve of his lips, a private smile only for Steve.

He looks at the trees, always reaching across the river, yearning and reminds himself of the things that he has promised to do.

The grass is still wet under him as he kneels in front of Bucky. His brow is creased, perplexed at Steve’s display but Steve doesn’t let that deter him. Bucky deserves this, deserves to be asked and to be allowed to answer. Honestly and truthfully.

“I want to have forever with you and I was never able to ask.”

He looks across the rushing waters, along the frayed and decayed rope that had connected their lands all these years. It is fitting that it happens here, where he first met Bucky, where a childish dare brought him into Steve’s life.

“Across the river is your home. If you want to return there I will not stop you or even be angry with you.”

Bucky turns, distressed, his hands coming to rest on Steve’s shoulders.

“Steve...”

Steve just shakes his head with a faint smile, resting his palm over Bucky’s hand.

“No please let me finish. I’m asking you to be mine, not because of land or because it is convenient, but because I don’t want to live without you. I want my home to be your home because you are my home.”

Bucky kneels then too, facing Steve. His hands are gentle on Steve’s face, the calluses he now knows are from his bow, are familiar and comforting on his jaw.

“My home too is where you are. Forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry that this was so delayed. I had a lot of issues writing it. I’m still not 100% happy with it, but I don’t know if working on it more will actually help at all, also I just sort of want to have it done now. 
> 
> Again thank you to everyone who has commented! You are all so wonderful!


	10. Epilogue

_The crazy days, city lights  
The way you'd play with me like a child_

The air shimmers with the heat of later summer, the grass burned to the colour of ripe wheat and Steve’s hair in the sunlight.

The water of the river rushes frothy and bright, cleaving past the rocks and debris that had always formed their path to the other side. Becca is standing with her bare feet planted wide on the wet rocks while Dum-Dum wades in past her into the underside of the new bridge. The rough wood has been smoothened by the rains and ice of winter. It now comfortably sits in the landscape like it has been there forever. Its curving banisters matching the branches of the tree, mirroring its reach.

Tony is hanging off the side of the bridge, his body nearly bent in half as he tries to see what Dum-Dum is pointing to.

“Come on moustache! It’s the support frame in the middle. It’s right there. Seriously.”

Pepper smiles at him indulgently from her place on the blanket laid in the grass, holding their sleeping daughter against her chest. The baby has Tony’s dark hair but Pepper’s complexion and nose. Tony’s temper too, as she showed by screaming most of the journey to the river.

Bucky lies, watching clouds pass them by, the forms and shapes of them reminding him of animals and fantastical creatures and he wraps them in his mind, for safekeeping till later. In the night, when they lay on their sleeping mats he will whisper them into Steve’s ear. He will spin fantastical tales of heroism and strange lands. Tomorrow Steve will draw them for him, his little notebook already half filled with secret stories told.

As if knowing his thoughts, Steve’s fingers run through his hair gentle and familiar, his breath steady and strong under Bucky’s head as he rests on Steve’s chest. Bucky breathes in the scent of late summer, the heat and the meadowsweet.

As Steve’s hand rests, warm and familiar on his swollen stomach, finger splayed protective and proud. Happiness curls in his chest, tight and still strangely new.

Dum-Dum slips, maybe on purpose and careens into Becca. They fall together, splashing and wailing on each other, into the rushing waters. Bucky can hear Becca swearing blue streak before the water cuts her off. They surface not far from the rocky outcrop, Becca springing up from the water like the big cat that she is, tackling Dum-Dum back into the water.

Tony cheers, voice gleeful and loud:

“Oi, Moustache! Look sharp! Getting your ass handed to you by a Lady Alpha again!”

Steve laughs, throaty and deep and it reverberates through Bucky’s body. Pepper giggle too, her voice melodious.

He knows that Dum-Dum spends a lot of his time at Barnes castle now. He never asks Becca about it, she had been bred for war and Bucky is grateful that the past year has given her a chance at some kind of healing as well, that is enough for him. He knows that she is breaking even more entrenched taboos that he is, and all he needs to know is that she is happy.

Eventually the two Alpha’s gang up on Tony and pull him down into the river, dunking him in the rushing waters as he yells Pepper for help, who merely smiles and shakes her head.

Night falls slowly around them, the sunset painting the western skies in pinks and purples. Fires are lit and spits set up. Tony darts between the camps, advising and annoying everyone in turn until Falshworth drives him back to his own pallet and Pepper hands him their daughter for the night. Tony holds her close and Bucky smirks at the stupid smile on his face. Stupid and in love.

He watches the silhouettes of Dum-Dum and Becca, painted indigo against the edge of the river, heads bowed together, whispering quietly.

They all sit together, the group of them, a family of sorts, late into the night and watch as the fireflies wake in the darkness. Flickering in and out like candle flames.

Bucky watches Steve in the dark, dusky lashes and blue, blue eyes and all his now. A smile spreads over Steve’s lips, gentle and so, so happy. He leans down, capturing Bucky’s in a kiss. It’s a kiss born of hardships conquered, of young summer love that was found anew, a kiss for new beginnings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's it.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone for reading and commenting! This fandom has been so welcoming and wonderful :)
> 
> Please do come by and say “hi!” on my new [tumblr here](http://claudia-flies.tumblr.com/).


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